Between Engagements and Uncertain Paths

Chapter 1

Eleanor Fairchild, desperate to escape an engagement with a stranger, has crashed at her college friend’s place.
While her friend is away on vacation, she receives a text: “Here’s my uncle’s address. Go stay there; I’ve already informed him.”
On Friday night, Eleanor knocks on the door, and a charming man opens it.
“Hello, Uncle. I’m Eleanor. I’ll be staying with you for a while,” she says politely.
The man appraises Eleanor from head to toe, nodding as he lets her in.
Three weeks later, Eleanor texts her friend: “Your uncle is so nice! Every evening, he brings home delicious food. This is the bubble tea he ordered before leaving work.”
Her friend replies: “You're kidding. He doesn’t even come home in the evening; he parties late into the night. Just yesterday, he posted a video of himself clubbing.”
Eleanor sends a picture of the bubble tea.
Moments later, her friend texts back: “That background doesn’t look like my uncle’s living room... Eleanor, are you sure you’re at his house?”
Suddenly, it clicks for Eleanor; something has been off this entire time. She hurriedly begins to pack her things, preparing to leave.
As she steps into the elevator, the doors open, and the man walks out, effortlessly taking the suitcase from her: “Eleanor, waiting for me to come home?”
Eleanor stiffens, bewildered. “Who exactly are you?”
“Well, I'm probably your fiancé, though you didn’t show up,” he replies with a calm demeanor, his gaze fixed on her. “I thought perhaps living together would help you warm up to the idea of marrying me.”
That evening, Eleanor’s search history reads: “How to quickly boost intelligence,” “What is a controlling partner?” “How to break off an engagement with a manipulative fiancé,” “Will he hurt me if I leave him?”
Months later, she searches for: “What’s the best birthday gift for a fiancé?” and “How to get my fiancé to kiss me only once a day.”
---
“Engaged?” Her roommate’s incredulous voice crackles over the phone. “Eleanor, when did you start dating someone? And an engagement? Since when? Why don’t I know about this?”
Eleanor nearly drops her phone; Julian’s loud voice makes her rub her ear. “I just found out a few days ago. My stepfather and my mom have arranged this marriage. They’ve already set things in motion, it’s just a formal matter now.”
“Wow. They’ve only ever paid for your tuition, haven’t they? Can you believe they’re trying to use you? Eleanor, who is this guy you’re engaged to?”
“I don’t know him very well; just heard a few things,” Eleanor sighs. “Do you remember Lysander Grey? He’s been off the radar for a year; rumor has it he was thrown out of a hotel by security for trying to get too friendly with someone he shouldn’t have.”
Julian laughs, “Wow, you’re engaged to a big deal! Isn’t that good news? He might just be able to sort out your stepmother.”
Eleanor groans. “He’s thirteen years older than me. I really don’t want to marry an older man.”
“Thirteen years old? He’s only thirty-one; it’s not like he’s ancient!” Julian chuckles. “Do you have a picture? Show me!”
For the past few days, her family has kept secrets from her, making sure she doesn’t escape. Eleanor doesn’t even know her fiancé’s name.
All she knows is he’s older and has a social standing far beyond her stepfather’s. His family wealth has always been kept under wraps.
There’s a possibility he’s facing family issues and needed a fiancé for some reason. Many families still follow the old custom of offering their young ones for marriage like they’re participating in a pageant.
For some reason, he’s chosen Eleanor.
In modern times, such matchmaking seems bizarre, but Eleanor used to think the upper class had strange customs. Now she finds herself in the very situation she wanted to avoid.
Eighteen years old, a sophomore majoring in Visual Communication at Castle Green University, Eleanor stands out among her peers.
As Julian puts it, “You couldn’t pay a plastic surgeon enough to replicate those stunning features.”
Additionally, she’s seen as a wealthy heir, her stepfather’s family has multiple young talents.
In reality, she has nothing to do with the wealth; she refuses to take her stepfather’s surname and has a strained relationship with him.
Her mother only covers her tuition, not willing to provide any additional support out of fear of upsetting her husband.

Chapter 2

Eleanor Fairchild stared at her phone screen, barely able to process the dwindling numbers in her bank account. Her monthly allowance of four thousand pounds from her father had become a thing of the past. Since he had remarried—his new partner a former student—Eleanor's financial support had become irregular. Over the past year, her father had stopped sending her funds altogether, and now, with only a thousand pounds left in her account, she faced an uncertain future just as the new school year approached.
With the start of classes in September looming, Eleanor felt the weight of loneliness crashing down on her. She had left home, escaping the stifling atmosphere, but found no refuge. “If only I was at home instead,” Julian Oakwood had said to her over a video call, his expression full of sympathy. “You could crash at my place until you figure things out.”
But Julian's family was away on an overseas trip that would keep them gone for over a month. “I'll head back to Crowthorne City, find a short-term rental near campus, and try to get a job before classes start,” Eleanor replied, her heart sinking. “For now, I guess I just have to take things one day at a time.”
From the beginning of their college journey, she and Julian had formed a close bond. He had swapped rooms just to share a dorm with her, distancing himself from a former roommate he couldn’t stand. Unlike others, Julian had come to understand the complexities of Eleanor's family background. Her mother was a well-known TV host, her father a respected university professor, but the façade failed to conceal the dysfunction that lay beneath.
Eleanor’s father had often blurred the lines of propriety with his students and spent little time at home, neglecting his duties as a parent. As for her mother, who mingled with high society as a public figure, she barely had time for Eleanor, rarely reaching out with anything more than a passing glance.
If there was one person who could sympathize with her plight, it was Julian. He often expressed a wish for Eleanor to rise above the limitations that her parents had imposed on her and prove herself. “You know,” he had said one time with a low voice, “if you didn’t mind a lack of love, marrying one of those rich guys could really give your parents a taste of their own medicine.”
Eleanor had grown up watching her parents' hollow marriage, and the idea of wedding anyone, let alone someone motivated by wealth or status, left her feeling cold. Her father, who appeared cultured and polished in public, was cruel at home, belittling her and treating her as if she were adopted. Her mother, while glamorous on screen, struggled with her own demons, often taking out her frustrations on Eleanor when no one else was around.
Having witnessed so much erratic behavior, Eleanor had developed a keen aversion to people who exhibited similar traits. What she felt grateful for, however, was that she had inherited only her parents' striking appearance, while their volatile natures had not passed down to her.
Rather, she seemed to mirror her Grand Old Lord, a male figure from her family, in terms of attitude, preferring to seek a partner with integrity, kindness, and a strong sense of morality. The idea of marrying a high-flying businessman only echoed the possessive behaviors she had fled from and wanted no part of. Moreover, with the recent escape from her impending engagement, her thoughts brimmed with a desire for revenge against her mother and stepfather. If they couldn’t find her, they were sure to lash out at her stepfather’s family, possibly bringing him down a notch.
Eleanor glanced at her phone to check the time, imagining the chaos that must be unfolding at home. She pictured her stepfather and his family, likely infuriated at her disappearance.
“Crack!” The sound of a crystal ashtray shattering on the floor snapped through the tension in the room. Benedict Hathaway roared in frustration, almost smashing the coffee table in his fury. “You’re all getting paid to look after her, and you somehow lost her!”
The two housekeepers kept their heads bowed, one murmuring, “Eleanor must have jumped out the window at night. We never thought she’d dare to leap from the second story…”
“Never thought?” Fiona Ravenswood interjected, her dissatisfaction evident. “I only care about the outcome. Enough of your excuses. Get some bodyguards to find her! She’s just a student without any means; how far can she run?”
Benedict’s chest heaved with anger. “Sir Geoffrey already called. We’re supposed to meet tomorrow for lunch, and he’s ready to finalize the wedding plans for next month—only for her to pull this stunt. What are we going to do?”
Matilda Hathaway, Benedict's elder daughter, piped up. “Let me take Eleanor's place, Dad. If she doesn’t want to marry Lord Cedric Goodwin, I’m more than willing.”
Benedict shot her a disapproving glance. Matilda was two years older than Eleanor, and he viewed her as his pride and joy, even over Eleanor, who he had constantly criticized. If Matilda got in good with the Goodwins, he wouldn’t have to send Eleanor’s picture to them at all.
The two girls were worlds apart in appearance and demeanor. If Matilda were to pursue a career in acting, she’d surely be criticized as the “ugly daughter of a wealthy family.”
Just then, Benedict's phone rang, and he snatched it up. “Hello, Sebastian Archer. Good to hear from you.”
“Lord Cedric won’t be coming to Hathaway Manor tomorrow,” came the unexpected reply.
Benedict let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding but quickly tensed again. “What about the engagement—”
“It’s not off,” Sebastian replied smoothly. “Lord Cedric has already found out where Eleanor is.”
Benedict was stunned by the speed of the news. After hanging up, Sebastian brought in a carefully brewed cup of tea into the office, where a man dressed in a tailored black suit sat on the plush sofa. Another man, equally dapper, stood nearby. Isabella Nightingale lounged elegantly beside them, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she conversed with Lord Cedric Goodwin, the heir apparent the family had gambled everything on.
Every time Sebastian laid eyes on Isabella and her circle, he couldn’t help but think how she embodied the concept of high society—intelligent, poised, and utterly captivating.

Chapter 3

Eleanor Fairchild certainly had a captivating look, but after being accustomed to Lord Cedric Goodwin, she was almost immune to the charm of Isabella Nightingale.
Sebastian Archer placed a cup of tea in front of Lord Cedric and quickly excused himself. As he left, he could hear Isabella chatting with Lord Cedric.
“...Ha! I gave your phone number to someone, and I also mentioned your current address,” Isabella laughed. “Just remember, don’t be bringing anyone home for a nightcap—stick to keeping it light, will you? Mistress Elowen only has one cherished grandson, and if you tarnish that in any way, I’ll be complicit. How could I face her later?”
Lord Cedric smiled knowingly, “You think my character is the same as yours?”
“Maybe not, but that kid’s adorable. You two are about to get engaged and married—who knows if you’ll get any wild ideas over the years?”
Isabella regretted a bit, “Had I known Eleanor Fairchild was this pretty, I would have acted more charming in front of Mistress Elowen. My mom pressures me into blind dates non-stop; I met seven people last month, and three were real weirdos.”
After chatting for a while, Isabella looked at her watch and decided it was time to leave.
Lord Cedric's phone vibrated.
He opened it to a verification message: “Hello Uncle Alaric, this is Eleanor Fairchild.”
Eleanor's profile picture was a simple doodle of a sun, using her real name.
Eleanor Fairchild had spent seven hours on a train to get to Crowthorne City. She slung her backpack over her shoulder as she entered the subway station, where she saw a new message from Julian Oakwood.
“I just remembered—I have an uncle living in Crowthorne City, and we’re pretty close. Why don’t you go stay with him instead of renting a place?”
While on the way, Eleanor looked up rental listings around the school.
Short-term rentals were rather pricey, generally over a thousand dollars a month, and she’d need to pay a deposit on top of that.
Considering her budget, Eleanor realized she wouldn’t have enough money and would have to borrow from Julian or other friends.
“This is my uncle’s phone number, 136xxxxxxxx. I spoke to him recently, and he said there are two rooms available at his place. You can go over anytime, but he’s usually home after eight at night.”
Eleanor felt a bit embarrassed.
Staying with someone else, even if they didn’t mind, could be a hassle—it’s just easier to have a place of her own.
There was also the possibility that her uncle might feel awkward declining out of respect for Julian.
Eleanor’s situation was a little awkward—she wasn’t keen on socializing at school, had never joined any clubs, and didn’t know many upperclassmen. Her acquaintances were mostly classmates from her department.
Everyone was in their second year, just starting their junior year, and most had gone home for summer break. For those who stayed, they had already secured dorm accommodations.
After some thought, Eleanor decided to give Uncle Alaric a call.
Living under someone else's roof for too long had trained her to read adults’ moods rather carefully.
The call connected almost immediately, and the voice on the other end was pleasing yet slightly nonchalant, like someone holding back laughter.
Even on the phone, Eleanor could easily picture him.
He would likely resemble a squinty-eyed fox.
“I’m Julian’s uncle's assistant, and you must be Eleanor, right?”
Eleanor replied with a soft “yes,” adding a greeting.
“Mr. Alaric is busy at the moment, but I’ll give you his personal number so you can add him on WeChat,” the assistant said with a chuckle. “Don’t be shy, kiddo—his address is xxxxxxxxx. Your room is all ready, and you can head over whenever you want.”
Eleanor was surprised to find out Julian’s uncle was genuinely willing to host her.
If she took the opportunity, she intended to be extra helpful around the house.
Eleanor noted the phone number and address.
After searching for Uncle Alaric's address on the map, she realized there was no subway or bus directly connecting her there; the nearest subway station was about five kilometers away, so she’d need to take a taxi.
Exiting the subway around 5 PM, she had three hours before eight.
Conveniently, there was a Market Square nearby, where she found a place called The Brewed Haven to sit down and added Uncle Alaric on WeChat.
The request got approved swiftly.
She politely messaged, “Hello Uncle Alaric, this is Eleanor Fairchild, Julian’s classmate.”
He replied simply with a casual “hello,” possibly worried Eleanor wouldn’t remember the details, he sent the home address again.
Recalling Julian mentioned he’d only be free after eight, she informed him she would arrive around that time.
She could hardly sleep on the train, and The Brewed Haven was quiet and dimly lit. Eleanor ordered a latte, but maybe due to exhaustion, the coffee didn't perk her up at all. She quickly found herself resting her head on the table and dozing off.
When she woke, it was already 7 PM. Eleanor glanced at her phone to find several missed calls.
She promptly blocked the contacts for Fiona Ravenswood and Benedict Hathaway, along with anyone associated with them.
Since the night before, she’d been bombarded with calls from unknown numbers.
But the last caller now wasn’t from Fiona’s side; it was her biological father, Finnial Merrick.
Finnial had tried calling several times without success and was now furiously messaging her.
“Where have you run off to? Your mom says you’re missing and suspects I’ve locked you up. She’s threatening to call the cops.”
Eleanor curled her lips in a sarcastic smile.
For Fiona to make such accusations, it would be rich coming from her.
Eleanor was still in college, and her scholarship funds were limited, so in times of financial strain, she often had to ask Finnial for living expenses.
Though every time, it was met with his scornful remarks.
Since turning eighteen, Finnial had refused to send Eleanor any more money.
It wasn't because he couldn't afford it.
He could make hundreds of thousands with just one speaking engagement.
It was simply his distaste for Fiona’s child.
During the time Fiona was pregnant with Eleanor, she was involved with a wealthy businessman.

Chapter 4

Eleanor Fairchild was convinced that she wasn't the biological daughter of Finnial Merrick, despite having undergone a paternity test. She held fast to her belief.
“She wants me to marry a man, and I refuse,” Eleanor typed slowly on her phone, her fingers gliding over the screen.
“Married to a man? Disgusting. She’s a woman who can’t control herself, and now she wants to mold you into something similar,” Finnial's furious response blared through her phone.
With a heavy heart, Eleanor sent a more casual message: "Dad, can you lend me a thousand bucks?"
He replied almost immediately, sending her a $200 digital red envelope with a note: “You don’t have to pay me back.”
As she glanced at the time, Eleanor prepared to leave The Brewed Haven, only to realize her backpack was missing.
“Excuse me,” she asked the café staff, “Have you seen my bag?”
The clerk, unwilling to check the security cameras, merely said, “A guy in a mask was sitting next to you while you were asleep. He took a bag when he left.”
To confirm that, she’d have to call the police. But Eleanor shrugged it off. Nothing of great value was in the bag—just a couple of changes of old clothes and a portable charger. In her hurry to escape, she hadn’t even brought her notebook.
Her phone and ID were safely tucked in the pocket of her pants, so a report felt unnecessary.
The clerk, blushing slightly while observing Eleanor’s fair features, asked shyly, “Do you want me to call the cops?”
“No thanks. It was probably a mistake. If the person returns, please have them call me.”
Eleanor left her number with the staff and stepped into a nearby store to buy two sets of fresh clothes.
With time running out, she called a taxi to Uncle Alaric's Lodge.
The summer evening was stifling; the driver refused to turn on the AC and opted to roll down the windows instead.
A sweltering wave of heat flooded the cab. The driver glanced at her through the rearview mirror. “You rich folks sure have it easy. Why don’t you let your chauffeur pick you up?”
Eleanor couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m not one of them.”
The driver muttered under his breath, probably thinking she was just another spoiled brat.
As they chatted, Eleanor learned that Uncle Alaric lived in Noble Quarter, an area known for its wealthy residents. Julian Oakwood, a bona fide trust-fund kid, wasn’t out of place there.
Once she arrived, the Lift ride made her anxious. She had only ever been around her peers; engaging with older men made her nervous, unsure if it would feel awkward.
Eleanor’s parents divorced when she was twelve, and her time with Finnial was usually spent enduring his barbs and insults. He had a knack for getting under her skin, even more so than her professors at university.
As a result, Eleanor often hesitated to approach older men. After her parents' split, she lost a real sense of family, even though the cracks had been there long before.
Living in someone else's house now felt unsettling. Would they ridicule her for staying in their home? Would snide comments follow her arrival?
Lost in these thoughts, the elevator doors slid open suddenly.
She rapped on the door to Uncle Alaric’s, but then remembered there was a doorbell. Just as she reached to press it, the door swung wide.
Looking up, Eleanor was momentarily taken aback by the man in front of her.
“Uncle Alaric, hi. I’m Eleanor Fairchild. I’ll be staying here for a while,” she stammered.
Her heart raced. Julian had called this man "Uncle," and as his classmate, she felt she should do the same—but the man looked so damn youthful, his aura enigmatic enough to confuse anyone about his age.
Lord Cedric Goodwin scrutinized Eleanor with a few careful glances.
She had a pale complexion that didn’t photograph well; in pictures, her features softened, her expression slightly distant and guarded. In person, however, her delicate contours were striking. Her large, moist eyes, delicate nose, and dimples created an innocent charm, reminiscent of a well-cared-for ragdoll cat—pretty but perhaps not the sharpest tool in the shed.
To Lord Cedric, she seemed very much like a child, her cheeks still cherubic.
“Nice to meet you,” he said, extending a hand.
Eleanor shook it lightly, feeling relieved.
The first meeting was neither warm nor cold—a perfectly measured distance that felt comfortable, especially to someone like Eleanor, who was outwardly gentle yet inwardly sensitive.
Lord Cedric led her to her guest room, separated from his own by a study.
Stepping inside, Eleanor found the room meticulously tidy, dressed in calming shades of cream and white, as if it had never been lived in before, almost like a show home.
The en-suite bathroom featured a soaking tub and an array of unopened toiletries—the remnants of careful preparation for her arrival.
“Should you need anything during your stay, just let me know. Don’t worry about inconveniencing me,” he offered.
Eleanor felt a touch shy and expressed her gratitude.
Once Lord Cedric left, she took a hot shower to wash away the day’s stress. Realizing she had forgotten to buy pajamas, she settled for the T-shirt and long pants she had just purchased.
Flopping down on the bed, she messaged Julian: “Your uncle is super handsome.”
Julian replied, smugly, “Right? I was completely floored when I first met him two years ago. He’s basically a walking Adonis. Just don’t get too dazzled!”
Curious, Eleanor typed back, “So you only met him two years ago?”
Julian recounted the story of Isabella Nightingale, revealing that she wasn’t really his uncle but rather a family friend, their last names linked by long-standing friendship.
After Isabella returned to the country two years prior, they instantly hit it off, and Julian quickly began referring to him as “Uncle,” following the familial bond they seemed to share.

Chapter 5

Eleanor Fairchild thought that Lord Cedric Goodwin looked quite young, certainly not the sort of person one would expect to be the uncle of Julian Oakwood.
Julian Oakwood said, “He’s thirty-one, eleven years older than I am, just like that old guy you call a fiancé.”
Eleanor Fairchild had skipped two grades in middle school, making her two years younger than Julian.
Eleanor couldn't help but laugh, “He doesn't look a day over twenty-five! I can’t quite figure out his age, but he’s really handsome.”
Julian Oakwood found this intriguing.
Eleanor would rave about Isabella Nightingale's looks, but she wasn't usually one to be captivated by appearances.
While Julian thought Isabella was attractive, he didn’t understand why Eleanor was so awestruck.
Eleanor Fairchild was somewhat of a miracle in their department. She had received confessions of love from both the campus beauty and the most charming guy in the art program. With so many stunning admirers vying for her attention, an ordinary person would have chosen one of them, right? The campus beauty had millions of followers online and was a well-known art influencer – talented, cultured, and gorgeous. Who wouldn't be flustered by someone like her liking you?
Yet, Eleanor valued her studies much more and didn’t have the time for relationships, politely declining each admirer.
She was determined to earn a scholarship every year, and with so many talented individuals in their school and program, getting one wasn't easy.
Given how resolutely Eleanor turned down offers of love, Julian assumed she must not have much interest in people.
He cautioned, “Don’t get your hopes up; you know how it is with tall, handsome thirty-year-olds who are still single – they usually play the field quite a bit.”
Eleanor Fairchild didn’t even consider that notion.
“Come on, I’m totally straight.” Eleanor laughed. “I have no ulterior motives.”
Julian agreed; he saw her as completely straightforward.
She had turned down the charming guy with a firm and frosty refusal, giving no reason, while she had declined the campus beauty more delicately, responding privately afterward and citing her busy schedule as an excuse.
Additionally, Eleanor had mentioned to Julian that she absolutely loathed the behavior of some boys who sent her pictures of their abs and other distasteful images – it was enough to make her nauseous sometimes.
Eleanor, who had felt so tightly wound, finally began to relax and dozed off, resting her head on her pillow.
Even so, Julian was still somewhat anxious about Eleanor.
It was he who had brought up her situation to Isabella Nightingale. She had helped him a lot, and they interacted like an uncle and nephew. Whenever certain matters arose, he instinctively sought Isabella’s assistance.
However, Isabella had a reputation as a bit of a player, not entirely reliable in her personal life.
Julian sent a warning: “Uncle Alaric, my friend is two years younger than me—she’s sweet and honest, but a bit naïve. Just have fun out there and don’t make a move on her.”
Isabella read the message and replied with an “ok.”
Then she took a screenshot of that message and sent it to Lord Cedric Goodwin.
Isabella chuckled as she recorded a voice message: “Don’t bully the kid; she’s a bit clueless and won’t stand a chance against you bad guys. Otherwise, my nephew will be upset.”
The night passed without a dream.
By five a.m. the next morning, Eleanor Fairchild was awake.
She browsed various job postings online. Previously, while still in school, she had taken on outsourced work from several companies, and she had been invited to do an internship right before summer vacation, so it shouldn't be too hard to get hired again.
However, she hadn’t brought her laptop this time, and funds were tight for a new one. This meant she might have trouble completing some jobs after hours, and the companies she was eyeing were all quite far away.
While she hesitated, Eleanor stumbled upon a listing for an art teacher at an atelier. The studio had classes from Monday to Friday from seven to ten p.m. at four hundred bucks a day. On weekends, it was three hours in the morning and three hours in the afternoon, with no classes in the evening, totaling six hundred bucks a day.
Even though the pay was lesser than before, the studio was right next to the market she had visited yesterday. In about two weeks, she could save enough to buy a new laptop, allowing her to take on additional work.
Eleanor sent her resume to the studio, thinking they would likely respond only on a weekday since it was Saturday.
She couldn’t tell if Lord Cedric Goodwin was awake yet. While brushing her teeth, she had closed the bathroom door tightly, trying to keep completely quiet.
Their rooms were separated by a spacious study, and the large area felt quite hollow. Since Eleanor had come in yesterday, she hadn’t heard any sound outside, leading her to believe the soundproofing was excellent.
Still, she wouldn’t dare to step out.
Fiona Ravenswood, who had her moments of anxiety, would go berserk over the slightest noise. Even as a child, Eleanor would be punished for making any sound.
Besides, Fiona had a cat. If that creature made any noise, Eleanor would invariably get blamed. Thus, morning and night were always tense for Eleanor at home, as she worried about doing something wrong.
However, staying over and being mistaken for someone who slept in till noon wasn’t great either.
Eleanor quietly opened the door, making not a single sound, and cautiously peered out—
Their eyes met. Eleanor blinked, and her face flushed a deep red, extending all the way down to her neck.
Lord Cedric Goodwin had just stepped out of his own room.
Seeing Eleanor’s cat-like stealth, he couldn’t help but smirk, “Good morning.”
Realizing her behavior had been anything but natural, Eleanor quickly shut the door. “Uncle Alaric, good morning.”
Lord Cedric Goodwin was impeccably dressed in a button-up shirt and slacks, neatly pressed, even wearing a tie, looking like a male model ready for a fashion show. “There’s milk, bread, and eggs in the fridge. You can make breakfast yourself. I have a meeting this morning, so I can’t stay to eat.”
As Eleanor opened her mouth to respond, there was a sudden ring from Lord Cedric’s phone. His driver was calling.
He gestured for quiet to Eleanor as he made his way to the living room.
With the sound of the door shutting, Eleanor stood frozen in place, still processing.
So Uncle Alaric also had to work on weekends.
Yet, Eleanor guessed he must be one of those successful professionals pulling in six figures. At that level of income, time constraints probably didn’t matter much.
With the house finally empty, it was just Eleanor Fairchild left. The tension she had woken up with slowly began to ease.

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