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.

a disdainful snort, a hint of sarcasm in her voice. "You don't know how

her frustration, Mila

straightened 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

darkened further. "What?" she

trouble? Have you ever cooked him a meal or done his laundry? Or even fetch

You're utterly useless. All you know is to be jealous and stir up trouble in our friendship." Mila felt a

her

her that she wasn't destined to be a housewife. Everyone had their strengths and contributions to offer to the family

his maid. Why

fired back, "Once you married him, these became

that stipulate that a wife must cook, do laundry, serve, and clean?" With disdain

remark. She couldn't understand why Fenna, who was of her generation in this modern era, would cling to such outdated and