Chapter 2: The Lawson Family Rules

When I stood up to leave, the snickering behind me hadn’t stopped.

"She actually dares to say she won’t give him a way out—how ridiculous."

"Right? An orphan who never even finished college, married into the Lawsons, and hasn’t gotten pregnant in five years. She still thinks she can stand her ground with Mr. Lawson?"

"What’s the difference? If Old Mr. Lawson didn’t care so much about appearances, she’d have been out on the street a long time ago."

"She only lasted this long by sucking up. That’s why everyone calls her a doormat—soft, easy to walk all over."

They didn’t even care if I overheard.

Even though this was a Lawson family event.

Even though I was the eldest daughter-in-law.

Even though their husbands depended on my husband’s favor.

But none of that mattered to them. Because everyone knew:

My husband, Derek Lawson, did not love me.

I acted like I didn’t hear a thing, and as the Lawsons’ eldest daughter-in-law, I smiled politely at every guest, fingers still curled around my napkin.

Today was the groundbreaking ceremony for Lawson Pharmaceuticals’ new plant. Clients and longtime partners had flown in from all over.

My father-in-law, Richard Lawson, had already made it clear:

The Lawson family’s number one rule is to keep up appearances. Anyone who brings shame to the family gets punished—no exceptions.

Yes, even in the 21st century, the Lawsons of Maple Heights kept their own strict house rules.

At that moment, a wave of enthusiastic greetings rolled in from the entrance.

My husband, Derek Lawson, had arrived.

At his side was his assistant, Lillian Monroe.

Her white suit looked straight off a Saks rack, crisp and expensive, a celebratory boutonniere pinned to her lapel to match Derek’s.

They entered together under everyone’s gaze—

Like a newlywed couple walking into a wedding hall.

"Mr. Lawson."

"Ms. Monroe!"

Everyone greeted them warmly, respectfully.

"Lillian, long time no see!"

The wives nearby all stood up, smiling and waving to her.

Lillian Monroe was poised and gracious, smiling and nodding in response.

When she reached me, she stopped and addressed me with careful politeness:

"Mrs. Lawson, I’m sorry. Mr. Lawson was late because he was meeting with the city council. I should have reminded him sooner. You must have worked hard."

I quickly shook my head, smiling. "No, no, your work’s important. You two have worked much harder than I have. Are you hungry? I can have someone bring you something to eat."

"We’ve already eaten, there’s no need to trouble you."

Lillian declined with poise, then as if remembering something, added:

"Oh, there is one thing... I parked in a rush and blocked the exit. I don’t really trust the valet with my car. Could I trouble you to move it for me?"

She looked at me with that polite, practiced smile.

The room suddenly fell quiet, everyone glancing over, some openly, some sneaking a peek from behind their wine glasses.

With all those eyes waiting for a show,

I nodded, keeping my composure.

"Of course."

My voice was steady, careful—like someone who’s learned to swallow her pride.

Derek Lawson stood to the side the whole time, his face unreadable, watching coldly.

He didn’t say a word.

After all—

He’d known her longer than he’d known me, and their relationship ran deeper than anyone admitted.

Lillian Monroe was thirty-two this year, two years older than Derek. They’d been classmates at Columbia.

As an assistant, she was sharp, capable, and had more power in the company than some vice presidents. As a mistress, she was discreet, humble, always keeping Derek enthralled.

Someone like her—compared to me, a high school dropout, a useless, brainless trophy wife—

She was overwhelming.

Outside, the lot shimmered with luxury SUVs and the occasional battered sedan from the staff lot. I parked Lillian’s car, wiped my palms on my skirt, and walked back inside.

When I handed Lillian the keys, she was sitting on the sofa, beaming, chatting with my mother-in-law.

My mother-in-law, Carol, was a former piano teacher, always proud of her elegance and running the family with an iron fist. She found anything tacky intolerable—and somehow, everything I did seemed tacky to her.

"Thank you for your trouble, Mrs. Lawson."

Lillian spoke lightly, not even looking at me, her tone as casual as if speaking to a maid.

Derek sat beside her, legs crossed, frowning slightly.

"What took you so long? You just gonna leave everyone hanging like that?"

My cheeks burned, but I kept my head down and nodded, as if apologizing could erase me. "I ran into a guest outside and exchanged a few words. I thought, since you were here—"

My mother-in-law clicked her tongue in annoyance, cutting me off:

"Derek is already exhausted from work, and you still make him handle these little things himself? You’re really lazy. People from humble backgrounds just don’t belong in the big leagues."

She always gestured dramatically as she spoke. At that moment, the red wine in her hand sloshed over onto her white leather heels.

A housekeeper rushed over with a towel to wipe them.

She glared at her shoes, then snapped at me in exasperation:

"You do it."

I bent down and squatted at my mother-in-law’s feet, carefully wiping her shoes. The leather was cold and slick under my fingers. My knees ached against the marble floor.

Derek said nothing.

Lillian watched with a faint smile.

Nearby, all sorts of ambiguous glances were cast my way.

"This Mrs. Lawson is really too weak. Outside, she’s pushed around by her husband’s lover; inside, she’s suppressed by the whole family. Being a daughter-in-law in a wealthy family isn’t all it’s cracked up to be."

"Yeah, she just wipes shoes when told. They say the Lawson family’s eldest daughter-in-law is a doormat—easy to walk over. It’s really true."

"Shh, be careful if the Lawsons hear. Last time someone gossiped, Old Mr. Lawson had them blacklisted from the club."