The Wrong Woman

The first rays of morning sunlight seeped through the window, painting the room with a gentle glow.

Mila was still in slumber when she heard the door creak open. Startled awake, she slowly rose, her gaze landing on an unexpected visitor.

Fenna stood at the doorway; her initial surprise quickly clouded with dismay. "Why are you sleeping in Nate's room?" she snapped.

Mila clenched her fists slowly, her irritation mounting as Fenna's intrusion disrupted the peace of the early morning. She wondered why Fenna would know the passcode to Nathan's room.

"Why shouldn't I stay in my husband's room?" Mila retorted, her tone tinged with annoyance.

With a grim expression, Fenna rushed into the bathroom, grabbing a cloth and setting to work on the chair and cabinet surfaces.

Mila watched her with confusion. "What's going on?" she asked, puzzled.

voice. "You don't know

a deep breath to rein in her frustration, Mila asked

her posture, and her demeanor oozed superiority as she looked down at Mila. "Wanda, I'm Nate's assistant. For the past six months, I've attended to every aspect of his

darkened further. "What?" she

with a disdainful glance. "What else have you done other than causing him trouble? Have you ever cooked him a meal or done

at work nor take care of his daily life. You're utterly useless. All you know is to be jealous and stir up trouble in our friendship." Mila felt a pang in her stomach, gritting her teeth as she took another deep

childhood, her upbringing

wasn't destined to be a housewife. Everyone had their strengths and contributions to offer

not his maid. Why should I do

fired back, "Once you married him, these became

frowned, genuinely puzzled. "Does Norvania have laws that stipulate that a wife must cook, do laundry, serve, and clean?" With disdain etched on her face, Fenna

of discomfort at Fenna's remark. She couldn't understand why Fenna, who was of her generation in this modern era, would cling