Eleanor pushed open the French doors. The crisp morning air hit her face. She stepped onto the white gravel path of the private gardens, heading toward her grandmother's secluded suite at the far end of the estate.
Her designer shoes crunched softly against the stones. The rhythmic sound announced her approach.
As she neared the blooming rose trellis outside Genevieve's windows, she saw her.
Isabelle was sitting on a wrought-iron bench. She was perfectly positioned to be clearly visible from Genevieve's sitting room window. Isabelle was sobbing loudly into a white lace handkerchief, her shoulders shaking with exaggerated grief.
Eleanor stopped a few feet away. She crossed her arms over her chest. She did not say a word. She simply allowed the heavy, judgmental silence to stretch out until the sheer awkwardness of it forced Isabelle to look up.
Isabelle dramatically gasped. She clutched her hand over her chest as if startled.
"Eleanor!" Isabelle cried out, launching instantly into a rehearsed, breathless apology. "I'm so sorry! Last night with Julian... it was an accident. We were just talking, and things got out of hand. We couldn't stop ourselves. We're in love!"
Eleanor did not interrupt. She tilted her head slightly. She watched Isabelle's theatrical performance with the clinical interest of a scientist observing a struggling lab rat.
The silence stretched again. Isabelle's fake crying faltered under Eleanor's unwavering, dead-eyed stare. The loud sobs turned into an awkward, pathetic whimper.
"Did you use waterproof mascara for this specific production?" Eleanor finally asked. Her tone was entirely flat.
Isabelle's face flushed a violent shade of red. She dropped the lace handkerchief onto her lap. Her victim persona cracked instantly, replaced by a ugly sneer.
"You are completely heartless!" Isabelle accused angrily, her voice shrill.
Eleanor took a deliberate step forward. The sun was behind her. Her shadow physically fell over Isabelle, plunging the younger girl into darkness. Isabelle instinctively shrank back against the hard iron backrest of the bench.
"Julian is a weak-willed idiot," Eleanor stated bluntly. "You are welcome to him. Provided you understand the price."
Isabelle looked confused. She blinked rapidly. "Are you... are you calling off the engagement? Because your heart is broken?"
Eleanor let out a short, sharp laugh. It was a sound completely devoid of humor.
"The marriage alliance remains," Eleanor clarified, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "I am marrying the Beaumont political network. You will merely be the hidden mistress he visits when he's bored."
Isabelle stood up abruptly. Her fists clenched at her sides. "Julian loves me! He told me he's going to break the engagement and marry me instead! His family will love me!"
Eleanor calmly reached into her pocket and pulled out the heavy, cream-colored invitation she had received earlier. She opened the card and shoved the thick paper with its handwritten note directly into Isabelle's face. Isabelle's eyes darted across the text. It was from Camilla Beaumont.
Eleanor, looking forward to seeing you solo at the gala. Julian's recent lapse in judgment is being handled. We have no interest in entertaining the Sinclair bastard child.
Isabelle's eyes widened in absolute horror. The blood drained from her face. She realized the Beaumont matriarch explicitly despised her.
"High society runs on capital, Isabelle," Eleanor whispered coldly, leaning in so close Isabelle could feel her breath. "Not cheap hotel affairs."
Isabelle's chest hitched. Genuine tears of frustration and humiliation welled up in her eyes. The romantic delusion she had built in her head was completely decimated. She realized she was nothing but a temporary, worthless distraction to the people who actually held power.
Eleanor stepped around the sobbing girl. She dismissed her existence entirely.
Eleanor walked up the stone steps to the heavy oak door of Genevieve's suite. She knocked twice. A firm, rhythmic sound.
The door was immediately opened by Mrs. Davies, the chief estate manager, who bowed her head slightly and stepped aside.
Eleanor stepped into the dimly lit suite. The air was thick with the scent of imported Earl Grey tea and old wood.
Genevieve Sinclair was seated in a massive wingback chair by the roaring fireplace. Her piercing, intelligent eyes locked onto Eleanor instantly.
"Why is there a crying girl ruining the peace of my garden?" Genevieve demanded, her voice raspy but commanding.
Eleanor walked over and sat in the chair opposite her grandmother. She smoothly smoothed the skirt of her suit.
"I was just taking out the emotional trash," Eleanor reported calmly.
Genevieve's thin lips twitched into a rare, approving smirk. She appreciated her granddaughter's ruthless lack of sentimentality.
"Do you intend to proceed with the Beaumont marriage?" Genevieve asked directly, tapping her silver-tipped cane against the rug. "Despite the public humiliation of Julian's infidelity?"
Eleanor met her grandmother's gaze flawlessly. "I accept the alliance purely for political leverage and status. I do not care about love."
Eleanor leaned forward slightly. "I plan to use Julian's guilt, and Camilla's embarrassment over the paparazzi photos, to extract a highly favorable prenuptial agreement. I want a larger percentage of their tech stocks placed in a blind trust under my name."
Genevieve nodded slowly. Her fingers reached up to tap her heavy pearl necklace. She was officially giving Eleanor her blessing to manage the crisis.
Suddenly, a loud, angry voice echoed from the hallway outside the suite. Heavy footsteps approached rapidly.
Senator Robert Sinclair was coming.
Eleanor and Genevieve shared a knowing, exhausted look. The brass handle of the heavy oak door began to rattle violently.
