Nathaniel froze, the phone pressed so tightly against his ear that his knuckles whitened.
“Are you trying to make some kind of joke?” His voice came out sharp, almost threatening. “Did she pay you to say that?”
On the other end, the butler sounded rattled. “No, sir… I wouldn’t dare. Miss Eleanor… she was in a car crash. She’s gone.”
“No, impossible! Why would she be in a car crash when I told her to wait at home?” He was fuming.
“Well,” the butler sighed. “We’re not sure, but we think that she was going somewhere because she brought a lot of her things.”
Nathaniel's jaw clenched, ready to snap back, when a second call came in. Without even saying goodbye, he switched lines.
“This is Officer Landers. Are you related to a Eleanor Carrington?”
Nathaniel’s instinct was to say I’m her husband. The words almost slipped out—until reality slammed back into him. His lies. His carefully built façade. He couldn’t risk it.
“I’m… her brother-in-law,” he said instead. The words felt foreign in his mouth, acidic.
The officer’s tone was grim. “I’m sorry, sir. We’ve recovered ashes and several personal belongings from the crash site. The body… it’s unrecognizable because the car exploded after collision.”
For a moment, Nathaniel’s entire body went numb. “No,” he said sharply. “Impossible. How? Are you pranking me? Did she get you in this so we pay her attention?”
“No, Sir. Of course not,” he denied. “If you want to confirm, then go to the crime scene in Lake Shore. We all have the evidence to prove it was her.”
Nathaniel didn’t hear the rest. He was already moving—grabbing his jacket, his phone still in his hand, striding for the door with a speed that made the butler step back.
In the hallway, Delilah appeared, her face pinched with confusion. “What’s happening? Where are you going?”
“I need to get to Eleanor.” The words came out clipped, urgent.
Her eyes widened, shock morphing into anger. “Are you insane? Why would you—”
But he was already past her, his footsteps echoing down the corridor.
Delilah’s frustration only deepened when her phone buzzed. The hospital doctor was on the line, requesting her presence immediately.
She arrived at Leo’s room moments later, finding the baby squirming in his crib, tiny fists waving in distress.
“We need to monitor him,” the doctor explained. “He refuses to take milk. We may need you to breastfeed for now—he needs the nutrients.”
Delilah recoiled. “I don’t want to.”
The doctor’s brow furrowed.
Realizing how suspicious she must sound, Delilah forced a sudden, sugary smile. “Oh… right. I’ll try. You can leave us.”
Once the door shut, her demeanor flipped like a switch.
“You damn baby,” she hissed, leaning over the crib. “What’s wrong with you? You can’t be sick. And you certainly can’t die. Do you hear me? There is no way I’m letting Harold walk away from me. You are my leverage—even if you’re not mine.”
The baby’s cries grew louder, shriller. Delilah’s frustration spiked.
No one knew the truth—that her pregnancy had been faked from the beginning. That Leo was never hers.
“Nurse!” she barked, throwing open the door. “Feed her—I can’t stop the crying. And make sure she lives, or you’ll regret it.”
While the nurse took the baby, Delilah called the driver. “I want to know where Nathaniel went and why he ran off without telling me.”
There was a pause before the driver said, “It might have to do with Miss Eleanor.”
“Yes, I know that—” Delilah’s voice sharpened. “That’s why I want to know why he’s in such a hurry. Why he’s choosing her over me—”
“Ma’am,” the driver interrupted quietly, “Miss Eleanor… she’s dead.”
Delilah froze, stunned for only a heartbeat before a slow, delighted smile spread across her face. Then, laughter—high, sharp, and cruel—spilled out.
“Dead? Really?” She tilted her head, savoring the thought. “Then let’s go see her and then celebrate.”
By the time Delilah was en route, Nathaniel was already at the crash site.
The air was thick with the stench of burned metal and smoke. The twisted remains of the vehicle lay crumpled against the scorched earth, barely recognizable as a car.
An officer led him toward the remains they had recovered. “We can’t identify her by sight,” the man explained. “But these were found at the scene.”
One by one, they showed him her possessions—a charred handbag, a half-melted phone, the faint outline of a familiar scarf.
And then… the necklace.
The necklace he had given her once, years ago, when promises still meant something between them. The sight of it ripped through him, stealing the air from his lungs.
He remembered his promise, “I will love you for the rest of my life. You are the only one for me, and I promise to make you happy forever.”
Nathaniel’s knees buckled. He sank to the ground, his palms pressing into the dirt as though he could steady the earth beneath him. “No,” he rasped. “No, I won’t accept this. This isn’t her.”
The officer hesitated, then handed him a document. “We ran fingerprints on the recovered items. They matched Eleanor Carrington.”
Nathaniel’s head lowered. For the first time in years, the world felt like it had dropped out from under him. His heartbeat was a dull, punishing drum in his ears.
He didn’t notice the murmurs of the officers nearby. He didn’t see the way Delilah’s car rolled up in the distance.
He just stood there, staring at the ashes in the metal tray, his expression unreadable—but his grip on the necklace so tight it left angry red marks in his palm.
“Eleanor, please…” he muttered. “Tell me this is just a joke.”
