Chapter 4 - The Fall of the House of Blackwood
Back at the hospital, the elevator doors chimed open on the penthouse floor.
Eleanor marched out, her heels clicking aggressively against the marble tile. She was vibrating with indignation. How dare they treat her like a criminal? How dare that mousy, pathetic Evelyn cause such a public spectacle? She was going to march into that room, demand Evelyn drop the charges against Garrett, and then officially file for a divorce on her son's behalf.
She turned the corner, expecting to see the drab, standard hospital room she assumed Evelyn's meager insurance would cover.
Instead, she stopped dead in her tracks.
The hallway was lined with security guards in tailored suits. At the end of the hall, double mahogany doors stood open, revealing a suite that looked more like a five-star hotel penthouse than a hospital room.
Victor stepped out of the suite, blocking her path.
"Move aside, you brute," Eleanor snapped, clutching her purse. "I am here to see my daughter-in-law."
"You are here because she allowed it," Victor corrected, his voice devoid of emotion. He stepped aside, gesturing toward the open doors.
Eleanor marched in, her nose turned up in defiance.
I was sitting up in bed, my hair brushed, wearing a silk robe that cost more than her entire country club membership. But what made Eleanor freeze wasn't the luxury of the room.
It was the man sitting beside me.
Eleanor’s eyes went wide. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. She recognized him instantly. Everyone in the high-society circles of the East Coast knew the face of Harrison Davenport. He was the white whale of elite socialites—a man of unimaginable wealth and ruthless power who never attended their petty galas.
"Mr... Mr. Davenport?" Eleanor stammered, her arrogant posture completely disintegrating. "What... what are you doing here?"
Harrison didn't stand. He simply turned his icy gaze toward her.
"I am visiting my granddaughter, Mrs. Blackwood. I understand you had quite a busy morning at an estate auction. Did you win the debutante gown for your daughter?"
Eleanor’s face flushed a deep, ugly crimson. She looked at Harrison, then slowly turned her eyes to me. The resemblance, the bone structure, the sudden, confident set of my shoulders—it all clicked into place in her mind.
"Evelyn...?" she whispered, the horror creeping into her voice. "You're a Davenport?"
"I am," I said, my voice steady, completely devoid of the tremor she was so used to hearing. "And you, Eleanor, are currently trespassing on my private floor."
"I... I don't understand," she stammered, taking a step back. "Why didn't you tell us? We... we treated you like family!"
"You treated me like a stray dog you regretted bringing inside," I corrected her coldly. "And speaking of being brought inside, my lawyers have just filed the paperwork. The shell corporation that holds the mortgage on the Blackwood mansion? The one that Garrett stopped paying two years ago? I own it."
Eleanor gripped the back of a chair, looking like she was going to faint.
"As of thirty minutes ago," I continued, savoring the absolute destruction in her eyes, "your house is in foreclosure. You have until Monday to remove your belongings. I suggest you start packing instead of shopping for gowns."
"You can't do this!" Eleanor shrieked, tears of sheer panic ruining her expensive mascara. "We will be ruined! Our reputation!"
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"Your reputation," Harrison interrupted softly, "is the least of your concerns. Victor, remove this woman from our sight."
Eleanor was sobbing as Victor escorted her out, her manicured nails digging into her own palms. The sound of her wailing echoed down the hall, a stark contrast to the beautiful, peaceful silence she left behind.
