Chapter 6 - The Drawing Room Rehearsal
The evening shadows lengthened across the Persian rugs of the grand drawing room as the crystal chandeliers flickered to life. The heavy French doors stood slightly ajar, letting in the cool scent of wet grass from the lawn. I sat near the fireplace, the dark blue knitted blanket draped across my lap, watching the reflection of the flames dance in the polished brass of the fender.
Footsteps clicked sharply against the parquet floor. The woman in the emerald green silk evening dress swept into the room, her updo immaculate, though a faint line of tension pinched the corners of her mouth. She had discarded her wrap in the foyer, and the deep green fabric caught the warm chandelier light as she strode directly toward me.
"Richard tells me you were difficult this morning," she said, her voice dropping into that familiar, honeyed cadence that masked a razor's edge. She stopped two paces from my wheelchair, looking down at me with the same taunting smile she had worn in the ballroom. "He came all the way out here with the restructuring papers, and you refused to sign."
I kept my expression neutral, unblinking, letting her fill the silence.
"Who would ever want a man who can't even stand?" she murmured, taking a slow step closer, her gaze narrowing as she searched my face for any sign of weakness or compliance. "You're holding onto assets you can't manage, Julian. The board is laughing behind your back. Even the servants whisper about how pathetic it is to watch you cling to a desk."
I looked up at her, letting the silence stretch until her smile stiffened into something rigid and defensive.
"The desk is mine, Eleanor," I said quietly. My voice was calm, devoid of the anger she was fishing for.
She let out a short, sharp laugh, crossing her arms over her chest. "Your name is on paper, perhaps. But the power, the control, the public face of this family—that belongs to the people who actually know how to move in the world." She leaned in, her perfume sharp and expensive. "Sign the riders tomorrow morning when Richard returns. If you don't, we'll make sure the probate court appoints a public conservator. And then you won't even have this chair inside these walls."
She waited, her eyes drilling into mine, expecting the usual flash of frustration or defeat. When I merely tilted my head and offered a faint, unreadable smile, a shadow of genuine unease crossed her features. She stepped back, smoothing the front of her emerald dress with a sharp jerk of her hands.
"You always were entirely useless when things got complicated," she said coldly, turning on her heel.
May you like
The heavy oak doors of the drawing room clicked shut behind her, the echo reverberating through the empty hall. I sat alone in the warmth of the chandelier light, reaching down to trace the heavy weave of the blue blanket. Let her believe the mask was all I had left. Tomorrow, the bank doors would open, and the foundation's accounts would freeze.
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