I had lived in that house for ten years, yet standing before it now, a wave of nausea washed over me. It didn't feel like a home; it felt like a crime scene.
But my mindset had shifted.
If enduring a little disgust was the price for permanently ridding myself of that man, then so be it.
I knocked. A moment later, a nanny I didn't recognize answered.
"Hello, Miss. Who are you looking for?"
From the entryway, the sharp wail of an infant drifted down the hall.
My jaw tightened. Sure enough, the moment I left, Lucas had moved Yolanda right in. He hadn't even waited for the ink to dry.
"Call Lucas," I said, my voice ice-cold. "Tell him I'm here to serve his mistress during her postpartum confinement."
The nanny's eyes widened. She froze, mouth opening and closing, unsure how to handle the sudden appearance of the actual lady of the house.
Before she could stammer out a reply, Yolanda came running from the master bedroom.
"Lexi! You're here!" She beamed, her face a mask of feigned innocence. "Why didn't you give me a heads-up? I would have had Lucas pick you up. This makes me look like a terrible sister."