The drive to the ancestral Voss chateau felt like a funeral procession.
Julian’s Mercedes devoured the kilometers in tense silence, the winter countryside blurring past the tinted windows in shades of gray and bare brown.
Eleanor stared out at the leafless oaks lining the long private drive, her hands knotted in her lap, the fertility clinic’s verdict still echoing in her skull.
She hadn’t spoken since they left the Champs-Élysées penthouse. Julian had spent the entire journey on speakerphone, barking at lawyers and PR agents about containing the Phoenix leaks, as if her quiet devastation were just another line item on his agenda.
Eleanor had always navigated these visits with practiced deference, smiling through the barbs, playing the dutiful daughter-in-law.
Today, after Julian’
