"Aunty Anita," Linda called, grinning like a cute, innocent girl playing the part of a sweet niece who’d just spotted her favorite relative at a family barbecue.
Aunty.
That title made Anita’s fork pause over her plate.
Just for a second.
Not long enough for anyone to call it a reaction, but long enough for Eleanor fumbling with a text ssage to freeze.
Aunty?
Why would she call Anita Aunty? They weren’t related! And Anita was her boss’ wife!
Was Linda stupid?
Linda didn’t notice Eleanor’s reaction, nor Anita’s. Or perhaps she did and didn’t care. She took a step closer, her heels clicking too loudly in the hush of the VIP section, her smile bright enough to blind as she stood beside Anita’s table.
Anita placed her fork down with deliberate grace, her eyes still lowered to her al.
She took her ti. Sipped her drink. Dabbed the corner of her mouth.
Only then did she lift her eyes.
And et Linda’s.
The temperature in the room dropped.
That one look was neither angry nor kind. But it was sothing worse. Sothing quieter. A subtle, soul-piercing assessnt that stripped away Linda’s pretty armor and laid bare her intentions like a body on an autopsy table.
"Aunty?" Anita repeated coolly, as though saying the na of a forgettable street she once passed through.
Linda’s smile tightened at the edges but ignored the question. "I didn’t know you’d be here. What a lovely surprise! You look... stunning as always."
Anita didn’t respond imdiately. She tilted her head, as if debating whether to waste her ti replying.
Finally, she said, "You’re a White — Ainsworth?"
Linda blinked, caught off guard. "I—what?"
Anita’s gaze didn’t waver. "That’s what you ant, isn’t it? Calling Aunty like you’re from my blood. So, which is it — White or Ainsworth?"
"I an... not personally, of course," she said with a light laugh, too loud for the tension in the air. "I didn’t an it literally. It’s just... respect. You know, the way we call soone older ’aunty’ in the hoods, where I ca from. You’re basically family." She finished with an awkward giggle, brushing invisible lint off her dress like it would sohow sweep away the awkwardness too.
David treated his workers as family, so Anita couldn’t do otherwise, else she’d stick out a sore thumb in a place that prided itself on unity.
And Linda took advantage of that. But she forget this was Anita White, not Anita Wales Blackwood.
Anita blinked once.
Then slowly picked her fork to resu eating, like nothing happened.
But Linda took that as a cue to continue, like they were close.
She pulled out the empty chair across from Anita and slid into it with the kind of confidence that belonged to soone completely unaware of the shifting minefield beneath their feet.
Eleanor was done texting her son and had just stood up to join them and do what her son told her to, for damage control, when she saw Linda’s bold move. The woman was stunned.
You must know that Anita saw her space as more than just a territory. You don’t sit on her table unless invited and Linda– that foolish girl!
The woman doubled her step, hoping she could smoothen things over before David arrived.
Anita didn’t look up. She was still cutting her sea bass with slow, elegant precision. But even from where Eleanor stood, she could feel it, the shift in the atmosphere. One that stupid, mindless girl couldn’t feel.
Linda crossed her legs, and began. Too loudly, too friendly. "You always eat here, Aunty? You must really like their dessert. I’ve heard it’s the best in town."
Still no reply.
Linda’s grin began to falter. "I an, of course, you’d know what’s best. Even Dave says—"
Anita’s knife stopped. Her fork paused mid-air.
She placed both utensils down with the precision of a surgeon and finally, finally, lifted her gaze.
It wasn’t a glare.
It wasn’t a smile either.
It was that chilling middle place. A look that saw everything and forgave nothing.
And then she spoke, calm as a still lake before a storm.
"Linda," Anita said, voice silk wrapped around a dagger, "how often do you play dress-up before the mirror and pretend to be soone important?"
The blood drained from Linda’s face.
Eleanor gasped and paused, just two tables before Anita’s.
But Anita wasn’t done.
"Because this," she gestured gently at the table between them, "is not your tea party."
She stood up, folding her napkin with grace. "Next ti you want to make a point, try using your own seat. And your own money."
And with that, Anita grabbed her bag, turned on her heels, adding, "The next ti you call , Aunty. Family, you may be losing your tongue."
And that was when she locked eyes with her mother-in-law.
Linda sat in stunned silence, cheeks burning, chest tight.
"D– daughter-in-law."
Anita gave the woman a quick glance-over. She was draped in a cream and gold knee-length gown, pearl necklace and matching earrings.
All of that – her look, her wardrobe, the way she styled her hair... Everything was Anita’s idea.
Yet, she dared.
She dared to betray her.
She dared to connive with her son and his mistress to disrupt her peace of mind.
However, outwardly, the young woman didn’t flinch. Not even as Eleanor shifted uncomfortably under Anita’s hard stare, clearly expecting her to speak.
After what seed like forever, Anita simply raised her chin, calm and unbothered. "Mother," she replied with a calm smile.
No different from what she always gave this woman. Except that this ti, Anita deliberately made the woman feel the ingenuity in her smile.
Eleanor felt and saw it. Her daughter-in-law was mad. She swallowed hard, thinking it was because of Linda’s rudeness. "You’re here too? I didn’t know you’d want to eat out. I would have... invited you."
"You’re not to bla, Mother. I should have checked up on you. I haven’t been doing my job lately."
Eleanor chuckled. Too loud. Too classless.
She thought nothing has changed between them. She thought Anita didn’t hear all the things she talked about with Linda monts ago, otherwise, Anita wouldn’t even speak to her and just storm off. Or even, she might have called them out, demanding answers.
The woman thought Anita was still the daughter-in-law she knew.
And with that, the woman’s heart settled and she wore back her facade of a loving mother-in-law.
"How could you say that?" she reached out, putting Anita’s hand in hers, like she always did. "You’re my perfect daughter. I’m sure you were very busy."
Anita’s gaze drifted to the woman’s hand on hers. A wicked glint flashed in her eyes, but she schooled her calm.
"When I get ho, I’ll send your favorite Charlotte to keep you company. The house must be lonely without David." The woman sighed, "That husband of yours...Anita, you need to take your wife role seriously. He doesn’t listen to . It’s not ideal for a married man to be sleeping in the office. You trust him too much, but won cannot be trusted. What if—"
"I trust my husband, Mother." Anita smiled, thin lips. "He won’t cheat on ."
Eleanor was taken aback for a splitting second. "Ah, yes. My son will never cheat on you. He was raised right." Her gaze drifted to Linda and she cleared her throat. "Daughter, et Linda..."
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