The lawyer began drafting the impromptu agreement, his pen scratching loudly against the paper.
Edward turned to Hank. "Get out of my sight. Take the girl. Get her out of the country, or so help me God..."
Hank looked at Elena, then at the door. He grabbed her arm roughly and dragged her out. He left in disgrace, the golden boy tarnished forever.
Bernadine followed him, casting one last venomous look at Annette. "You'll regret this," she hissed.
"I doubt it," Annette replied.
Edward sighed, rubbing his temples. "I will summon Dereck." He looked at the clock. "He's in the West Wing. Rarely comes out. It's... a process."
"I'll go with you," Annette said. "We need to announce the engagement change tonight. The guests are waiting."
"No," Edward said. "Go freshen up. Fix your makeup. I'll deal with my son. He can be... difficult."
Annette nodded. She grabbed Lucas's arm and they left the library.
In the hallway, the music was still playing, jarringly cheerful. The contrast between the polite society waltz and the bloodbath that had just occurred in the library made Annette feel dizzy.
Lucas pulled her into a quiet alcove, behind a large potted fern.
"Annie, are you insane?" Lucas asked, grabbing her shoulders. His eyes were wide with panic. "Dereck Bolton? He's... he's a vegetable, Annie. A vegetable!"
"He's not a vegetable, Luke. He's paralyzed," she corrected.
"He's on painkillers all day. Rumor says he has months to live. Liver failure. Kidneys. He's a sinking ship."
Annette looked around to ensure they were alone. She leaned in close.
"That's exactly why, Luke," she whispered.
Lucas looked confused.
"I don't want a husband," she said, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "I want the Adams-Bolton alliance. I need the protection of the Bolton name to secure our assets against the coming... market shifts."
"If I marry Hank, I have to fight Bernadine every day. I have to fight his mistresses. I have to fight for every penny."
"If I marry Dereck," she continued, her eyes cold and pragmatic, "I wait a few months... or a year. I play the devoted nurse."
"And then?" Lucas asked.
"Then nature takes its course," Annette said. "And I'm a young, wealthy widow with control of the Bolton Trust. No one to tell me what to do. Total freedom."
Lucas stared at her, shocked. "You sound... ruthless."
"You've changed," he said softly.
"Survival changes you," she replied ambiguously. "I'm doing this for us. For the family."
Above them, on the shadowed balcony of the second floor, hidden by the heavy velvet drapes, a figure sat in the dark.
Dereck Bolton sat in his wheelchair, his hand resting on the joystick. He had been making his silent, nightly patrol of the upper floors-a habit he'd developed to monitor the manor's security blind spots-when the hushed, urgent voices from the alcove below caught his attention.
He listened to the girl-Annette Adams-outline her plan. She wanted him for his name. She wanted him for his money. And most of all, she wanted him dead.
He lowered his head. A smirk played on his lips. It wasn't a nice smile. It was the smile of a wolf who had just spotted a rabbit entering its den.
"A wealthy widow," he mouthed silently.
He turned his wheelchair around, the motor humming silently.
"Let's see if she can handle the husband first."
