Chapter 11
1148 Words
*Elena's POV*
The morning had started out peaceful. The sound of distant footsteps in the marble hall was soft at first, barely noticeable
Elena was seated across from Beatrice in the east garden, sunlight brushing across her hands as she reached for her tea. A breeze stirred the edges of her cardigan.
It had been a quiet morning and she was just beginning to feel the aura settle around her.
Then Nolan appeared in the corridor arch.
“ Ma'am Elena,” he said, his voice just slightly tight. “Mr. Blackwood’s relatives have arrived. They weren’t expected.”
Elena blinked. “Relatives?”
Beatrice didn’t react visibly but Elena noticed the pause in the older woman’s hands as she placed her cup down.
“Let them in,” Beatrice said smoothly.
Nolan nodded once and disappeared.
Beatrice turned slightly and gently patted her hands.
Moments later, the doors opened.
The woman who stepped in looked like she had stepped straight from a fashion show. Sharp shoulder pads, a perfect dress and lips painted the shade of polished blood. Her hair was perfect. So was her disdain.
“Vivian,” Beatrice said, sipping her tea calmly.
Trailing behind Vivian was a younger man, maybe in his early thirties with an air of smugness that didn’t match his well-fitted suit. His eyes scanned the garden like a realtor eyeing property.
“Miss Morgan,” Vivian said, a smile stretching across her face, thin and brittle. “How lovely to meet you.”
“Elena,” Beatrice said with elegance. “Meet Vivian Grey — Damian's Aunt and her son, Charles.”
So, this was Damian’s cousin and judging by the glint in their eyes, they weren’t here to welcome her.
Charles’ eyes swept Elena with slow calculation. “You’re smaller than I imagined.”
Elena met his gaze. “I’m not here to be measured.”
A pause.
Then Beatrice gave the faintest smirk. A quiet approval.
Vivian sat without being invited, crossing her legs elegantly. “Bold, I like bold women. Until they start to forget where they belong.”
“I thought this was your family’s house and Damian invited me,” Elena replied softly.
Charles tilted his head, his smile edging toward mockery. “Invited? Is that what we’re calling it now?”
Vivian rested her manicured hands on her lap. “You’ll have to excuse my son. He lacks tact.”
Elena said nothing. She didn't need to.
Beatrice poured herself more tea. “Is there a reason for your visit?” she asked.
Vivian blinked slowly. “The board has concerns. Family matters and word travels quickly.”
Beatrice raised a brow. “And what word would that be?”
“That Damian has entangled himself with someone unexpectedly.”
Elena felt the sting but she didn't let it show. She simply folded her hands and looked at the trees curling along the edge of the garden wall.
Charles chuckled softly. “Without consulting anyone.”
Beatrice didn’t even flinch.
Vivian leaned slightly forward, her voice sweet. “We just want to understand your intentions, dear. Given your background and your condition…”
Beatrice’s teacup hit the saucer with a precise click. It wasn’t loud but it was final.
“That’s enough,” she said sharply.
The air around them grew still.
Beatrice looked directly at Vivian. “This is still my home and Elena is here with my full support. If you came to test her, you’ve wasted your time.”
Vivian’s smile tightened. “You’ve always had a soft spot for the broken.”
Beatrice’s eyes glinted.
Alaric stood then, brushing non-existent lint from his cuff. “Come, Mother. We’ve seen enough.”
Vivian rose like a swan, graceful and rigid. “We’ll be seeing you again, Elena. I imagine we’ll have a lot to talk about once things are finalized.”
They walked out with all the grandeur of people convinced they ruled the land.
Only after the doors closed did Beatrice exhale.
“This won't be the last of it,” she murmured, watching Elena carefully. “Are you okay?”
Elena straightened her shoulders. “Yes.”
“Good,” Beatrice said. “Then next time, you don't have to be polite.”
*Damian's POV — Evening*
Damian stood at the far end of the gallery hall, his back against the door.
He heard Beatrice being wheeled in before he saw her.
“Vivian and Charles came,” Beatrice said, her voice behind him.
He didn’t turn. “I know.”
“You let her face them alone.”
That made him turn.
Beatrice’s gaze was hard but not cruel. “She didn’t ask you to come but she needed you there.”
“I didn’t think they’d try to corner her.”
Beatrice raised an eyebrow. “They always corner the one who doesn’t fight like them.”
“She’s not weak.”
“I never said she was,” Beatrice replied, folding her hands. “But she shouldn’t have to be strong every second.”
Damian said nothing for a moment. Then he asked, “How did she handle them?”
“She didn’t blink,” Beatrice said and for the first time that day, a faint smile tugged at her lips.
*Elena's POV — late night*
The fire in the sitting room had gone cold, but she hadn’t noticed until her fingers brushed ash.
Elena sat on the edge of the couch, her thoughts winding through everything that had been said. The way Vivian’s voice dripped with condescension, the way Charles' eyes treated her like a chess piece.
She was not unfamiliar with being dismissed.
But this?
This was different.
She rose, crossing to the tall window that overlooked the back gardens. Her reflection met her in the glass, faint and blurry in the night.
Would Damian believe she is strong enough to hold his family?
Did she?
She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders.
Just…thinking
This wasn't about marriage anymore.
It was about power.
They didn't care who she was, only what she could cost them.
Across the city, a man sat alone in a dark car, camera resting on his knee as he typed on a secured device.
The last images he’d taken of a woman on the Blackwood grounds, seated beside Old Madam Beatrice were uploaded to an encrypted folder.
His message was brief.
“There’s a woman living at the estate. Not staff. She is young and seen with both Beatrice and the girl.”
He hit send.
Minutes later, in a sleek penthouse high above the skyline, Veronica Longard read the message.
She didn’t blink.
Instead, she placed her wine glass down and typed a single response.
“Get me everything you can on her. Quietly.”
She stood, heels clicking against marble as she crossed the room to her window.
- Writer
