Chapter 3 - The Mask Slips
Julian stood up slowly from the stool, towering over the kitchen island.
“Eleanor,” Julian said, his tone dangerously low and perfectly controlled.
“Do not ever speak to her that way in my home again.”
Eleanor let out a sharp, condescending laugh that grated against Julian’s nerves.
“Julian, please be reasonable,” she scoffed, waving her manicured hand dismissively.
“Don’t tell me you’re suddenly getting sentimental over a woman whose only job is to wipe our counters.”
Julian felt his jaw clench so tightly his teeth ground together.
“This woman,” Julian said, pointing a steady finger at Nora, “knows exactly which of my daughter’s favorite colors brings her comfort.”
“She knows what specific ambient light helps them fight off the night terrors.”
“What do you actually know about them, Eleanor, other than how to manipulate a grieving man into trusting you?”
Eleanor’s beautiful face turned violently pale, the carefully constructed mask finally slipping away.
“Excuse me?” she hissed, dropping the sweet, cultured facade entirely.
Her eyes flashed with a toxic, venomous rage that Julian had never seen before.
“You are a weak, pathetic widower who pays a common maid to play mother because you are too cowardly to do it yourself!”
The kitchen plunged into a dead, horrifying silence following her outburst.
Harper began to cry, silent, heavy tears streaming rapidly down her pale cheeks.
Nora moved purely on instinct, stepping firmly between Eleanor and the twins.
She shielded the crying girls with her own body, ready to take whatever verbal abuse Eleanor threw next.
Julian looked at Eleanor, the elegant woman he had almost asked to marry him, and realized he was staring at a monster.
“Get out of my house,” Julian commanded, his deep voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling.
“Julian, you cannot possibly be serious—”
“If you are not off my property in exactly thirty seconds, I will have my security team physically drag you through the front gates.”
Eleanor sneered, her chest heaving with indignation as she grabbed her purse with trembling hands.
“You will deeply regret this, Julian.”
“I will ruin your reputation in this city before the week is over.”
She turned aggressively on her heel and stormed out of the kitchen.
She slammed the heavy front door so hard that the expensive glass panes rattled in their frames.
Julian slumped heavily back into his chair, burying his exhausted face in his hands.
He felt entirely drained, hollowed out by the sheer magnitude of his own terrible judgment.
Then, he felt a soft, warm hand tentatively touch his trembling shoulder.
It was Nora.
“Sir,” she whispered gently, her voice an anchor in the chaotic storm.
May you like
“Breathe.”
He looked up at her empathetic green eyes and realized that, for the first time in two years, he was finally safe.
