It was to be an intimate affair, just family. I told Charles I wanted to discuss the “future of the estate.” His eyes lit up. He thought I was finally yielding. He thought the pressure had worked.
They arrived polished, smiling, confident. They believed they were winning. They believed the groundwork had been laid so deeply that I would never claw my way out.
They were half right. Groundwork had been laid. Just not by them.
The dining room was set with my finest china, the candlelight flickering against the crystal glasses. I poured the wine—a 2015 Reserve Cabernet, deep and complex. A wine that took patience.
“To family,” Charles toasted, his voice rich with satisfaction.
“To the future,” Lucas added, his eyes gleaming.
Halfway through the second course, there was a knock at the door.
Charles frowned. “Who could that be at this hour?”
“I invited a few more guests,” I said calmly, placing my napkin on the table. “I thought it was time we expanded the circle.”
The doors opened. Mara walked in, carrying a thick leather briefcase. Behind her was Gabe, looking like a storm cloud in a suit. And behind them, two women I had never met before that week, but whose stories I now knew by heart.
Lydia, Charles’s first wife’s sister. And Nora, his second wife’s daughter.
Both women were calm. Both looked tired. Both held histories that mirrored mine too closely.
The air in the room changed instantly. It went from warm to frigid. Charles slowly lowered his fork.
“Eleanor,” he said, his voice tight. “What is this?”
