Alicia stormed into the penthouse, her high heels clicking sharply against the marble floor.
"You should've let me handle that girl!" she snapped, eyes blazing.
Gerald, already exhausted, sank into the sofa with a sigh. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to keep his cool.
"Can you just calm down, Alicia?" he said, rubbing his temples.
But Alicia wasn't the kind to calm down. She was always quick to anger, sharp-tongued, and unapologetic.
Gerald's eyes drifted to the diamond ring on her finger—the same ring he had given her when he thought she might be the one. Regret tightened in his chest.
What was I thinking? he thought bitterly. I should've seen the red flags. I should've listened to my gut.
The truth was hard to swallow. Alicia looked like a dream, but her heart told a different story. She treated people like trash—waiters, drivers, even his own staff. No one was spared.
Once, she'd slapped the old gardener just because he forgot to water the flowers. No warning. No patience. Just a slap.
Gerald pushed the memory aside. It left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Pretty face, ugly soul.
He sat up straighter and looked her in the eye.
"I think I need a break, Alicia."
She froze in her tracks. "A break?" she echoed. "What do you mean?"
"I need some space."
Her voice cracked. "Space? Why? What's going on? Don't you love me anymore?"
He took a deep breath. "I do love you. But your behavior lately… it's too much. I need time to think. Your actions—they're making me question everything."
"This is about what happened at the party, isn't it?"
"That... and everything else," Gerald said quietly. "Alicia, you don't show any kindness. No patience. No empathy. You think being beautiful is enough, but real beauty starts on the inside. A kind heart, a gentle spirit—that's what lasts."
Alicia's face twisted with rage. "You know what?" she shouted. "I won't sit here and let you tear me down!"
Gerald stayed calm. "I'm not tearing you down. I'm telling you the truth. You just don't want to hear it."
"Truth my foot!" she snapped. She grabbed her purse off the counter, spun on her heel, and stormed out.
The door slammed shut behind her.
Gerald didn't chase her. He just sat there, staring at the empty doorway.
Will she ever change? he wondered.
He already knew the answer.
-------------------
Thanksgiving day at the Roberts
The black SUV rolled up the long, winding driveway that cut through a sea of neatly trimmed hedges. Anna sat in the passenger seat, fingers curled tightly in her lap. She watched the massive white mansion rise into view, its stone columns standing tall like sentinels. The house was beautiful—elegant, cold, and a little too quiet.
"Here we go," Andy said, forcing a smile as he parked near the front steps.
Anna glanced at her husband, trying to mirror his calm. She wasn't nervous exactly—just cautious. Visiting his mother always felt like walking on a thin sheet of ice.
From the backseat, their five-year-old son Aiden leaned forward between them.
"Is this grandma's castle?" he asked, eyes wide with wonder.
Andy chuckled. "Something like that, buddy."
Anna turned to him and smiled. "Remember what we said? Be polite, no running inside, and say thank you if she gives you anything."
"Yes, Mommy," Aiden said, bouncing slightly in his seat.
As they got out of the car, a gust of cold November air swept across the driveway. Anna pulled her coat tighter and helped Aiden with his little jacket. Andy was already grabbing the pie box from the trunk—Anna had baked pumpkin and apple, just in case.
The front door opened before they reached the steps. There she was.
Magaret Roberts stood tall, her silver hair pulled into an elegant chignon, lips painted cranberry red. She wore a cream cashmere sweater and pearls, as if she'd stepped out of a lifestyle magazine.
"Andrew," she said with a soft, clipped tone, pulling him into a light hug.
"Hi, Mom," Andy said. "Happy Thanksgiving."
Her eyes shifted to Anna and Aiden. "Anna. You look... rested."
Anna smiled politely. "Happy Thanksgiving, Magaret . These are for dessert." She held out the pie box.
Magaret took it as if it weighed nothing, her face unreadable. "How thoughtful. Come in, it's chilly."
The entryway gleamed. Marble floors, gold-framed mirrors, a chandelier that sparkled like a frozen waterfall.
Aiden whispered, "Whoa."
"Use your inside voice, honey," Anna murmured, smoothing his hair.
In the living room, a fire crackled in the massive stone hearth. The dining table was already set—fine china, polished silver, candles standing tall and proud.
"You'll all be staying for dinner, of course," Magaret said. It wasn't a question.
"Yes, of course," Andy replied.
Anna nodded, her hand on Aiden's shoulder. She could feel his small body buzzing with energy, trying hard to behave.
Magaret leaned down to Aiden. "And this must be Aiden. You've grown."
Aiden nodded shyly. "Thank you."
"Would you like a cookie before dinner?"
He glanced at Anna, who gave a small nod. "Yes, please," he said.
"Go and check on the turkey ,Anna ", Magaret said with a wicked grin .
They followed the scent of roasted turkey and warm spices, stepping into the rhythm of a Thanksgiving gathering that felt more like a performance than a holiday—but for Aiden's sake, Anna was ready to play her part.
Here is your revised episode, rewritten with clarity, natural dialogue, vivid detail, and idiomatic expressions—without removing your original structure, characters, or ideas:
"But the chef is in the kitchen," Adeline said, glancing toward the hallway.
"I know," Margaret replied with a smirk. "That's exactly where she belongs—in the kitchen."
Anna caught the sting in Margaret's words but didn't give her the satisfaction of a reaction. She simply smiled, calm on the outside even though she knew Margaret was trying to provoke her.
"No problem," Anna said, standing. "I'll go check on the turkey."
She walked into the kitchen and opened the oven. The turkey wasn't properly basted—the top looked dry and patchy. She grabbed a brush, re-sauced it carefully, then slid it back in. After lowering the temperature, she wiped her hands and headed back to the living room.
But as soon as she stepped inside, she froze.
Sitting on the couch beside Andy was the last person Anna ever wanted to see—Penelope Kings. The woman who had turned her marriage upside down. She wore a sleek designer dress, looking flawless as always, every hair in place, like she had stepped straight out of a fashion ad.
"What is she doing here?" Anna asked, trying hard to keep her voice steady.
"Watch your tone," Margaret snapped. "She's my guest. I invited her."
Anna's eyes burned. "I'm not going to sit here and watch you wine and dine my husband's mistress."
"Or what?" Andy cut in sharply, eyes narrowed.
"Yes, or what?" Margaret echoed mockingly, stepping closer. "Tell me, you weak little thing. What could you possibly do?"
She got in Anna's face, close enough to feel her breath.
"I think I should go," Penelope said, playing innocent. "I didn't mean to cause trouble."
"No, Penelope. You stay," Andy said firmly, reaching for her hand like she was made of glass.
Anna opened her mouth to argue, but Aiden was in the room. She couldn't lose control in front of her son. She bit down the words and took a seat quietly.
Penelope and Sophie launched into a giggly conversation about the latest fashion magazines. Andy talked business with his mother and Penelope, while Adeline sat with little Aiden at the piano, showing him which keys to press.
But Penelope kept glancing at Anna when no one was looking, her smile never touching her eyes.
I'll show this bitch who's boss, she thought, still smiling sweetly. "Excuse me," she said aloud. "I need to use the bathroom."
"Oh, sure," Margaret said, nodding. "Walk straight down and turn left."
"Thank you," Penelope replied.
"I'll show you the way," Andy offered, reaching for her hand with the kind of tenderness that made Anna's stomach churn.
She shook her head slightly, disgusted. He had never looked at her like that—not even in the early days.
"No need," Penelope said, still smiling. "I'll find it myself."
"Alright." Andy leaned over and pecked her on the cheek before she walked away.
But once she turned the corner and was out of sight, Penelope didn't go left. She turned right, toward the kitchen.
With silent steps, she slipped inside. Her eyes landed on the oven, and a wicked smile curled on her lips.
She tiptoed over, turned off the oven, and carefully pulled the turkey out. Then she looked back to make sure the coast was clear.
Satisfied, she reached into her bra and pulled out a small pouch of powder. She sprinkled it over the turkey, quickly put it back into the oven, and this time cranked the heat to the highest setting.
"Anna, Anna, Anna," she whispered, grinning darkly. "Let's see how long your perfect little family lasts."
With that, she straightened her dress and strolled back to the living room like nothing had happened.
Minutes later, a burnt smell drifted into Anna's nose. Her eyes widened in alarm.
"Oh no… the turkey?" she thought. "But I left it on low heat…"
"What's that smell?!" Margaret shouted. "Are you trying to burn down my house?"
"I'm sorry—I'll go check it out!" Anna jumped to her feet and hurried to the kitchen.
"Useless girl," Margaret muttered. "She never gets anything right."
When Anna got to the oven, her heart sank. The temperature dial was cranked to the max, the turkey blackening.
"I didn't do this," she thought in disbelief. "I know I turned it down."
Dinner was served not long after. Penelope sat beside Andy like they were the happy couple, while Anna sat across the table, her eyes like daggers. Margaret, meanwhile, showered Penelope with attention like she was the guest of honor.
Wine and champagne flowed for the adults. Little Aiden got a glass of fruit juice.
After Margaret gave her proud, overly dramatic toast as the head of the Roberts family, they all clinked glasses and started eating.
But only a few minutes into the meal, Aiden's face twisted in pain. He grabbed his stomach and cried out, "My tummy!"
"What's wrong, baby?" Anna and Andy asked at the same time, panic creeping into their voices.
But Aiden didn't answer. He just wailed louder, clutching his belly.
"What's happening?" Margaret asked, suddenly alarmed.
She too was holding her stomach now. A wave of nausea hit her. "What did you put in the food?!" she barked, pointing a shaking finger at Anna.
Penelope sat back, watching the chaos unfold with barely concealed glee.
"I didn't do anything!" Anna said, terrified. Her stomach was rumbling too now, loud and strange.
"Oh God! My stomach!" Adeline and Sophia cried out in unison, doubling over.
Penelope let out a dramatic groan and grabbed her side, faking it to blend in.
"What have you done?!" Andy shouted, grabbing Anna's arm so hard it hurt. "Are you trying to kill us all because you're jealous?!"
He stood, eyes darting around in confusion, not sure who to help.
But then, to Anna's shock, he bent down and picked up Penelope instead of their son.
"If anything happens to them," he said through clenched teeth, "I swear I'll kill you."
Tears ran down Anna's cheeks as she picked up Aiden and ran out the front door, his cries still echoing behind her.