Her reaction was explosive, like a cat whose tail had been stomped on.

"I'm sorry, I'll take them off right now."

Sylvia shot to her feet, panic written across her face. "Please don't fight because of me."

"Don't."

I caught her wrist and kept my eyes forward. "It's a set of pajamas. What's the screaming about? I'll return them tomorrow. I'll buy Sylvia her own."

I still remembered when Boyd first moved in and took a liking to my only custom-tailored suit, one I reserved for important events.

Melanie didn't bother asking me. She put it on Boyd herself. Then Boyd soiled it.

I was furious.

Melanie couldn't have cared less. "God, you're cheap! It's just clothes. Boyd didn't do it on purpose. Wash it yourself and get over it."

The next day, she went out and bought Boyd five custom suits without blinking.

I was so angry my vision blurred.

"Melanie, don't blame Valentine. It's my fault for overstaying my welcome. He's upset, so he hired some actress to get under your skin." Boyd's voice was thick with guilt.

"I'm nothing but a burden. I'll move out tonight. You two shouldn't be fighting over me."

His eyes rimmed red, and the moment he finished speaking, he steered his wheelchair toward the door.

I glanced at Melanie.

I wanted to see exactly how she'd react.

No surprises there.

Just like every other time, Melanie rushed over and threw her arms around Boyd, murmuring softly, "Boyd, you've never been a burden. You're one of the most important people in my life."

Then she shot me another look, dripping with provocation.

"You're truly despicable."

"Trying to force Boyd out by bringing home some filthy scheme like this."

With that, she was done.

She wheeled Boyd into the master bedroom.

That room used to be mine and Melanie's, but Boyd claimed he had "claustrophobia in small spaces."

So once again, without a word to me, Melanie handed it over.

She even set up a cot beside the king bed.

Then she laid down the rules: Monday through Saturday, she'd stay in the master bedroom to take care of Boyd. Sundays, she'd sleep in the guest room with me.

I'd tried talking to her about it.

I'd argued. I'd lost my temper.

But every single time, Melanie said one thing and did another.

That night.

After I got Sylvia settled in, I went to the study. Around midnight, a scream tore through the house.

"What the hell?!"

"Valentine, you sick freak! You're insane!"

Melanie stormed into the study seconds later.