Chapter 778:

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Ximena lowered the phone. Xander was staring at her, his face red.

“Well?” he demanded.

“She said no,” Ximena said. “She said… not as long as I’m with you.”

Xander roared. He grabbed a vase from the table, a cheap glass thing, and smashed it against the wall.

“That bitch!” he screamed. “She wants to ruin me! She wants to steal you!”

He turned to Ximena, his eyes wild. “You see? She’s the enemy. Only I love you. Only I would stay with you when you’re broke!”

He hugged her violently, burying his face in her neck. Ximena stood there, surrounded by shattered glass, feeling the cold, sharp truth settle in her heart.

Aurora wasn’t the enemy. But Ximena was too terrified to admit who was.

The apartment, once Ximena’s sanctuary of minimalism and light, had transformed into a claustrophobic den. The air was permanently thick with smoke and the smell of fried grease.

But the invasion wasn’t over.

𝖡𝘦 𝘱𝖺𝘳t 𝗼𝖿 𝗼𝘶r 𝖼𝗼m𝗆un𝗶𝘁𝘆 оn 𝗴а𝗹𝗇о𝘃е𝘭𝗌.cо𝗆

On Wednesday, the doorbell rang.

Xander opened it. A woman pushed past him, dragging a screaming toddler and carrying a diaper bag that looked as if it had been through a war.

“Brenda!” Mrs. Tate shrieked with joy, heaving herself off the couch.

“Hey, Ma,” Brenda said, popping her gum. She looked like a harder, sharper version of Xander. She eyed Ximena up and down with open disdain. “So this is the sugar mama.”

“Ximena, this is my sister Brenda,” Xander said, not looking Ximena in the eye. “She’s… going through a rough patch. Her ex kicked her out.”

“She needs a place to stay,” Mrs. Tate announced. “Just for a few weeks.”

“Where?” Ximena asked, her voice rising in hysteria. “There is no room! You’re in the living room!”

“The study,” Xander said. “That room with the drafting table. You’re not working anyway, right? Since Aurora killed your business.”

“That’s my office!” Ximena protested. “It’s a tiny second bedroom I converted! My designs are in there!”

“Paper,” Brenda scoffed. “My kid needs a bed. Don’t be selfish.”

Before Ximena could physically block them, Brenda had marched into the study.

An hour later, Ximena walked in to find her sketches, months of work, swept onto the floor. The toddler was drawing on the back of her blueprints with a permanent marker.

“No!” Ximena rushed forward and snatched up the papers. “What are you doing?”

The toddler screamed.

“Hey!” Brenda got in Ximena’s face. “Don’t yell at my kid! It’s just paper!”

“It’s my work!” Ximena was shaking. She looked at Xander, who was leaning in the doorway eating an apple. “Xander, do something!”

Xander took a bite. “Brenda’s stressed, babe. Let the kid play. You can draw more.”

“You… you don’t respect me at all,” Ximena whispered.

“Respect is earned,” Mrs. Tate called from the living room. “A wife who brings in no money has no say.”

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