Tessa’s living room looked like a place where people were supposed to sip champagne quietly and admire the view of London through floor-to-ceiling windows—not a place where two multimillionaire women in their late forties and early fifties should be bickering like teenagers.

Yet here they were.

“It is my week, Christine,” Tessa hissed, arms crossed over her designer blouse as she stood in front of the marble fireplace like she was giving a monologue on stage. “She arrived on Friday, which means the weekend counts as mine. We’ve been over this.”

Across from her, Christine’s heels clicked sharply on the hardwood as she stepped forward, chin lifted. “Your scheduling is delusional, Tessa. The agreement clearly states: seven consecutive days starting Monday. Monday. As in today. And on Mondays, she’s with me.”

On the couch—so wide and soft it could’ve been a cloud—you lay sprawled on your stomach, face buried into a velvet cushion. You didn’t even try to pretend you weren't exhausted of this. One might think being financially spoiled rotten by two glamorous, powerful women would be a dream.

It wasn’t. Not when they were like this.

You turned your head just enough to breathe. “Can you two… I don’t know… not yell in surround sound?”

Neither of them heard you.

Tessa took a step closer to Christine, blonde hair glowing and blue eyes narrowing. “Don’t act like you’re suddenly a rule-follower, darling. If I recall correctly, you were the one who insisted we should be flexible with dates because of your ‘work emergencies’.”

Christine scoffed, tossing her ginger hair back. “That was when I was running a photoshoot in Milan, not waltzing into your house because you can’t accept that it’s my turn.”

You closed your eyes again, silently praying for divine intervention—or sudden deafness.

“I am not waltzing!” Tessa snapped.

“You literally waltzed in, Tessa. I watched you.”

“Oh for—” Tessa pressed a hand to her forehead. “The girl needs structure! She stays with me this week. End of discussion.”

Christine laughed, sharp and humorless. “She’s a grown up woman, not a boarding school project. And the only reason she’s in your house right now is because you begged her to stay for your charity gala.”

“It was an important event!”

“It was a fundraiser for rich people to clap at you.”

“They clapped because they care!”

You groaned into the pillow. “I swear to God…”

"You know what? Let's let her decide then." Tessa argues, and the two women turn to look at you, waiting for an answer.