Chapter 1
Tempted by His Beauty It was a sun-soaked May in Ravensport, where the air was rich with the scent of freshly cut grass and lawnmowers buzzed rhythmically in the background. Eleanor Hawthorne was once again working her shift at Misty River Café. Business was slow, with only a few patrons scattered around, while her coworker, Isabelle Oakwood, was sneaking glances at her phone. Suddenly, she let out a gasp, catching Eleanor's attention. "Eleanor! You have to see this!" Isabelle exclaimed, excitement bubbling in her voice. Eleanor jumped slightly, a frown forming on her lips. "What is it?" Isabelle turned her phone towards her, and Eleanor's eyes widened as her heart raced. On the screen, a video played of a couple tangled up in a passionate embrace, their faces blurred out of recognition but the nature of the footage unmistakable. “Wow, that guy has a killer body,” Eleanor mused, a hint of admiration creeping into her voice. The visuals were oddly captivating until something nagged at her. The woman’s chest bore a heart-shaped birthmark that sent a jolt of recognition through Eleanor. It looked just like the one she had. Could it be…? Isabelle huffed in frustration, slamming the phone down. "The internet's saying it's my crush, but there’s no way he’d get caught up in something like this! Who is that woman?" The man in question was Victor Blackwell, the enigmatic head of Blackwell International. While not a celebrity in the traditional sense, he had stunning looks and wealth that could only be described as staggering. Cold as the stars, beautiful as a god—he was the ideal in the eyes of Ravensport's residents. Now, he was embroiled in scandal, and the news sent shockwaves through the town. “Who the hell is this woman? She’s tainting my man’s reputation! It can’t be true; it must be a fake!” Isabelle fumed, typing feverishly on her phone. Eleanor bit her lip, her own thoughts spiraling back to that night six years ago, recalling the strength in Victor's arms. Heat surged to her cheeks. The video clip vanished from the internet within a couple of hours, but that didn’t stop the whispers. Who had leaked the scandal? Who was the woman entwined with Victor? Why had it all disappeared so quickly? As Eleanor pieced it together, a chill crept into her heart. During her lunch break, she stepped outside to take out the trash. As she reached the curb, a sleek car glided to a stop in front of her. Two men in black suits emerged, blocking her path. "Miss Hawthorne, our employer requests your presence," one said with an air of cool authority. Eleanor recognized the license plate—Blackwell family. With the scandal fresh on everyone’s lips, they must have come to confront her. Did they suspect she was involved? “What does he want with me? We haven’t been together in years.” The public had no idea about their rocky marriage, nor did they know it had ended six years ago. “Miss Hawthorne, please cooperate. Our employer’s patience is limited.” Was that a veiled threat? Eleanor straightened her spine, a defiance stirring within her. She had nothing to fear. After dumping the trash, she slid into the car. The vehicle whisked her away to the opulent Blackwell Hall, its grandeur spanning her senses as memories flooded back. Six years ago, she had left in the pouring rain, her heart marked by the bruises of betrayal and humiliation. She could still recall every detail—the harsh words, the bitter face of her mother-in-law, the loneliness. It was a freezing night, and shame clung to her like a shadow. Despite Blackwell being revered as one of Ravensport's elite families, their bond had been built on a shaky foundation. If it hadn’t been for an old family agreement, and her mother’s tragic accident, she would never have married Victor. Yet, as a starry-eyed teen, she had fallen for him, dreaming of someday being his wife. In the end, her love had gone unnoticed in the fray. “Miss Hawthorne, please come in,” a butler said, his voice breaking her reverie. Eleanor took a deep breath as she stepped inside. The room was just as she remembered—heavy and oppressive. Her eyes landed on Victor, lounging on the couch dressed in a dark tailored suit that showcased his chiseled features. He exuded an icy demeanor, radiating an aura that felt nearly tangible. “What did you want, Mr. Blackwell?” Eleanor inquired, lifting her chin and forcing a smile, showcasing her confidence. Victor’s eyes darkened as they landed on her. Time had done little to change his perception of Eleanor—she was still that intriguing woman with a glimmer of mischief hidden behind those bright eyes and elegantly poised demeanor. “There’s been talk today about you and some scandal; don’t you think you owe me an explanation?” He had managed to suppress the online gossip, but his first thought upon hearing the rumors had been Eleanor. After all, their untimely separation hadn’t erased the impressions they had left on one another. “Do you think I leaked that?” Eleanor replied, a hint of incredulity lacing her voice. “Is that too far-fetched?” Eleanor chuckled dryly, feeling cornered. “This is ridiculous. Why would I be interested in causing drama like that? You think I have nothing better to do?” Her previous desires to rekindle the spark they once had had long faded, leaving behind nothing but memories of what once was. Victor scoffed. “Your ambition was clear six years ago, Eleanor. You were willing to go to great lengths just to capture my attention.” “That was then, and this is now. You have no idea what I’ve been through,” she countered, her voice steady despite the memories stirring within her. “Your little games will backfire. You know that, right? Invading someone’s privacy could lead you to jail.” Eleanor recognized the seriousness of that tone, aware of what he was capable of when pushed. But today, she had to turn the tables—she was done being cornered. “Fine, I confess. I did it. I’m guilty of everything, Victor. I couldn’t resist your allure. I spent over two thousand nights thinking of you and would do anything just to catch a glimpse of you again. If loving you is a crime, then let the universe sentence me.” She leaned back, ready to see how he’d respond, tossing out her shocking confession like a grenade. Victor’s brows furrowed, his icy demeanor faltering as surprise flickered in his gaze. “Cut the theatrics.” He was ready for her next move, already bracing himself for whatever outrageous request she was about to make. Eleanor smirked, her eyes glancing sideways, concocting a plan that would leave him astounded. “What I want… you may not be able to give.” “Bold statement.” Victor lifted an eyebrow, steeling himself as he waited to hear her demands. “Here’s what I really want…”
Chapter 2
**A Little Temptress** “I want… you.” Victor Blackwell felt a chill claw up his spine at Eleanor Hawthorne’s words. He hadn’t anticipated her directness, and the way she fished for his attention felt as unnerving as it was familiar. “It's not happening. We’re divorced.” Victor had never let himself love anyone—not Eleanor, not anyone. Their marriage had been one of obligation, a mere agreement between families, a way to secure alliances. But Eleanor had pinned all her hopes on him, and the fact that she still held onto those feelings was a bitter pill to swallow. “But you have to admit, that night six years ago, we were both pretty satisfied. You called me a little temptress. Your performance was excellent; I’d love to experience it again.” She bit her lip flirtatiously, her eyes shining with an innocently seductive glimmer. Victor was caught off guard. The look in her eyes was innocent yet loaded with temptation, stirring up something deep inside him that he hadn’t felt in years. “Have you no shame? How can you say something like that?” Suddenly, Eleanor was standing too close. In one swift motion, she pushed him back against the armchair, her hand playfully snagging his tie. Her voice was honey-sweet, “What’s the point of modesty? I just want you, Victor.” She knew that Victor had a notorious aversion to messiness, especially around women. He’d usually push anyone who got too close far away, but Eleanor was throwing caution to the wind. The intoxicating scent of her perfume wafted around him, unexpectedly alluring, something he couldn’t quite place. It was an aroma he had never encountered before, weaving around his senses and drawing him in. The guards at the door exchanged perplexed looks. As if women entered Victor's space so brazenly. Normally, he’d be quick to eject anyone attempting to get too familiar, but here he was, frozen in disbelief. Their gazes lingered for what felt like an eternity. Eleanor’s heart raced; something wasn’t right. Why hadn’t he pushed her away yet? For the first time, Victor truly took her in. Her eyes were enchanting, deep like an endless night filled with stars, so vivid they seemed almost to speak. And he realized, with a pang in his stomach, that he wasn’t rejecting her closeness. Their marriage had been a forced arrangement, one he had no desire to embrace. For six long years, he had lived abroad while remaining completely disconnected from her, except for that one night, the night she had offered everything… The moment her soft lips inched closer, Victor found himself drawn in, an unexplainable urge igniting in him. But just as their lips were about to touch, she pulled back, arms folded, and grinned, “Alright then. I want a hundred million.” Victor blinked, completely thrown off. One moment, she was about to kiss him, and the next, she was asking for cash. “Seriously?” Eleanor’s request was bold, and he couldn’t help but chuckle despite himself. “You really think I can’t scrape together a hundred million?” She raised an eyebrow, “You paid me nothing when we divorced.” Before he could respond, Victor ripped out a checkbook and scribbled a quick amount. He handed it to her, “Once you’ve got the money, get out of my sight.” Eleanor couldn’t believe her luck. Who knew a little scandal could net her a windfall? “Thanks, Victor.” She pocketed the check, reminding herself that this money was for her two kids. It was to be a gesture from their father. “Delete the video in front of me,” Victor demanded. “Of course, I’ll do it now.” Feigning cooperation, she pulled out her phone and navigated through her gallery. “Look, all wiped clean. Can you breathe easy now?” He took a glance, spotting the lack of any explicit content, but a photo of their children caught his eye. Children? He wanted to examine it closer, but before he could, Eleanor quickly reclaimed her phone, grinning. “That’s it, Victor. I need to get back to work. Catch you later!” With a wave, she bolted out of the room, leaving Victor in a state of frozen shock. That child’s photo played over and over in his mind. Had she really married someone else and had kids? Snapping back to reality, he dialed his assistant, “Arthur, find out everything you can about Eleanor Hawthorne’s life for the past six years.” * As Eleanor sprinted towards the exit, she bumped into someone unexpectedly by the pond—Lydia Sterling, decked out in designer everything, her aura dripping with entitlement. Lydia was Victor’s childhood friend and came from a wealthy family. “What are you doing here?” Lydia spat, her surprise morphing into disdain. “This is not your place.” “Last I checked, the Blackwell estate wasn’t exclusively yours.” Eleanor shot back, irritation bubbling beneath the surface. “Such audacity!” Lydia’s anger boiled over. “I can’t believe you would even show your face here after that video.” The memory of the viral moment didn’t sit well with Eleanor either. The way Lydia’s eyes were alight with self-righteous fury only fueled her fire. “My face is none of your business, Lydia. Besides, maybe you should get over yourself.” “I can’t believe you’d stoop so low as to sleep with Leonard. You think just because you have a piece of paper, it makes you his? Dream on, loser.” “Please. The video was taken while I was still married to Victor. I was with my husband. What do you know about any of this?” Eleanor retorted, her voice dripping with coolness. Lydia’s face turned red with rage. Victor had never loved Eleanor, yet she still clung to him like she had a chance. “You’re pathetic. Leave him alone. Just get lost, you—” Before she could finish her slur, Eleanor delivered a swift kick to Lydia’s legs, knocking her off balance. “Ah!” Lydia landed squarely in the pond with a splat, water splashing everywhere. “You—!” Eleanor smirked, “Well, maybe you’ll think twice before honing in on other people’s drama. Consider it a cleanup for that mouth of yours. You might want to wash off that attitude while you’re at it.” “Just wait—” Lydia began, furiously sputtering in the water, but a threatening voice cut her off. “Eleanor Hawthorne! What on earth are you doing?” Without even turning around, Eleanor recognized her former mother-in-law’s voice. Trouble was about to find her, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning.
Chapter 3
**A Discovery of Existence** Margaret Whitaker strode toward the edge of the estate’s ornate fountain, her sharp gaze locked on Lydia Sterling, who was flailing helplessly in the water. “Get her out of there!” she barked at the staff, her voice dripping with authority. As they scrambled to obey, she turned to Eleanor Hawthorne, fury blazing in her eyes. “You’re the one who pushed her in! I saw you do it! What’s your plan now? Are you going to finish her off?” To Margaret, Eleanor was nothing but a base, ill-mannered interloper. Just moments ago, she had witnessed so much more than a mere scuffle; Eleanor had shown her true, malicious colors when she shoved Lydia into the fountain. The fact that this woman had the audacity to come back to Blackwell Estate after being thrown out was simply unforgivable. Eleanor, unfazed, met Margaret’s glare. “Yeah, I pushed her. What can I say? Lydia had it coming after her little outburst.” As Lydia was hoisted from the water, soaked and crying, she sputtered, “I didn’t do anything! Margaret, I just asked her why she was leaking that Victor video. She shoved me!” The mention of the scandalous video made Margaret's blood boil. “And I want to know what your motive was, Eleanor. You’re not trying to play games with the Blackwell family again, are you?” Eleanor’s heart sank at the bitterness in Margaret's tone. Memories flooded back; the year she married into the Blackwell family was marked by hard labor and demeaning treatment. To Margaret, she had never been anything but a servant—not a daughter-in-law. All her effort had led to accusations of infidelity and a brutal exit from the life she had fought hard to build. “If I wanted to scheme against you, Margaret, I’d remind you that you’re still holding onto half of my estate,” she shot back, her voice tense but strong. “What a bold statement! If you didn’t get a dime out of this, you’d ruin my son instead? You’re delusional, lady!” Margaret growled, her patience snapping as she raised her hand, aiming for Eleanor's face. “Slap!” The sound echoed as her palm connected, but it didn’t end there. Eleanor, quick as lightning, caught Margaret’s wrist before she could strike again. “You think you can hit me? What gives you that right? I’m divorced from Victor Blackwell now. We have nothing to do with each other anymore. Touch me again, and see what happens.” With a furious shake, Eleanor wrenched her wrist free, casting a glaring stare at Margaret. Margaret, taken aback, struggled for words. “You… You uncouth braggart!” “Smack! Smack!” The blows resounded once more as Eleanor retaliated, delivering two swift slaps to Margaret’s face. The impact left the older woman reeling. “Ah!” Lydia gasped. “Eleanor, you just hit Margaret! Are you okay, Margaret?” Margaret’s cheeks flared red, embarrassment and rage coursing through her, finger pointing accusatorily toward Eleanor. “I can’t believe you dared…” “Sorry, Margaret, but I’m the kind of person who believes in payback. Remember when you slapped me during my wedding? Well, let’s call that square. From now on, there are no debts between the Blackwell family and me.” “Y-You…” Margaret’s face darkened, trembling with anger, pointing a furious finger at Eleanor. “Let’s keep it civil. You’re no longer my in-laws, and I’m not your daughter-in-law anymore. So stop sticking your nose in my business,” Eleanor retorted, brushing aside Margaret’s hand with an air of defiance. Eleanor had no desire to linger among these two. She turned, seeking a way past them. “Don’t even think about leaving.” Margaret's voice rose, an unhinged edge slicing through the air. “Someone, stop her!” As a couple of men rushed forward to confront Eleanor, she remained unwavering. “If you injure me, you’ll regret it,” she warned, her voice cold and clear. “And I’ve got recordings of all the abuse and humiliation I endured in your household. Should anything happen to me, those tapes will be everywhere.” The servants froze, whispering amongst themselves. Margaret’s heart raced. Had Eleanor really recorded their conversations and treatments? “Let go of me,” Eleanor snapped, freeing herself from their grasp. “Don’t provoke me unless you want to be publicly embarrassed. I’m more than ready to play this game.” With that, Eleanor straightened her back, deliberately refraining from looking back as she strode out of Blackwell Estate, casting off the shackles of the past. She was no longer the naive girl who married into the family six years ago, and she wouldn’t back down from anyone trying to intimidate her. As she stepped through the door of Misty River Tavern, it was well past the lunch hour. Isabelle Oakwood spotted her and called out, “Yo, Eleanor, where’ve you been? It’s about time you showed up! I’ve got a mountain of takeout orders piling up. Get over here!” “Right away,” Eleanor responded, slipping into her work attire and washing her hands, ready to dive back into the hustle. Hours later, as her shift ended, Eleanor changed out of her café uniform and set out to catch the subway home. Just then, a sleek Bentley pulled up beside her, halting abruptly. The rear window slid down, revealing Victor Blackwell’s model-like face, impeccably cold yet strikingly elegant. “Get in.” His voice commanded, and there was no room for argument. “No thanks, Victor. I think I’ll pass. I’ve got a hot date lined up with a much younger guy,” she quipped, dismissed the tone with a playful smirk. Victor's expression darkened further at her remark. “Eleanor Hawthorne.” She shrugged him off, striding forward, but then she felt a hand grip her arm. It was his assistant, Arthur Nightingale, blocking her path. “Miss Hawthorne, please. We need to talk. Don’t make him mad.” Peeking back at Victor’s chiseled visage, she couldn’t help but feel like she owed him something monumental, but why did she owe him anything? “I’ll be real with you, Victor. If you want serious conversation, you need to find someone better suited,” she shot back, tossing her hair over her shoulder. Victor huffed, frustration radiating from him. “Can we please have one conversation without you being flippant?” “Look, life’s not worth living without a little fun, and frankly, I’ve been labeled ‘the bad girl’ for too long to change,” Eleanor retorted with a laugh, her way of brushing off the gravity of her past. As she rambled on, she suddenly found herself in the shadow of Victor’s imposing figure. When she met his icy gaze, a shiver ran down her spine. “Enough chatter.” In a swift motion, he seized her wrist, pulling her toward the car as effortlessly as a hawk would snatch a mouse. Eleanor had a choice to make—submit to the past or face it head-on. She felt the weight of her decision pressing down as the door of the Bentley shut behind her, sealing her fate.
Chapter 4
Too Close for Comfort Eleanor Hawthorne barely settled into the backseat of the sleek black sedan before the man squeezed in beside her, instantly making the confined space feel even tighter. She instinctively shifted away, not wanting to share the air between them. This was so far off from what she’d expected. Victor Blackwell, with his obsessive cleanliness, was notorious for never allowing anyone in his car. Eleanor couldn’t help but think that not even her mother had ever been a passenger in his gleaming vehicle. What had changed? Had his germophobia somehow morphed along with the circumstances? The car hummed to life, gliding smoothly along the road as the city’s scenery retreated into the background. The silence between them was thick and suffocating—like they were enveloped in a heavy fog, and Eleanor found herself wanting to leap out of the moving vehicle. Stealing a glance at the aloof figure beside her, she decided to break the ice. “Come on, Mr. Blackwell, what’s the deal? You want to chat? How do you want to do this? Sit in my lap for a heart-to-heart, or maybe we should just take it to the bedroom?” Eleanor had mastered the art of being the kind of woman Victor Blackwell would find infuriating. Victor’s expression remained rigid, his brow furrowed, his lips a clenched line as he tossed a file into her lap. Eleanor peered down at it. It was a photocopy of a birth certificate. Her pulse quickened. Alarm bells rang in her head, but she forced herself to feign nonchalance. “What’s this? I don’t understand.” “Cut the crap, Eleanor. This is a birth certificate. The mother’s name on it is you. Care to explain?” How ironic. Just that morning, he’d sent Arthur Nightingale to dig into her past, and what had Arthur delivered? An anonymous package filled with hospital records detailing that, five years ago, Eleanor had given birth to twins. In other words, two children had come into the world the very year after he’d divorced her. “Maybe it’s a coincidence? A woman with the same name giving birth to twins. Impressive, right?” she shot back, raising an eyebrow. “Keep reaching. Not only is the name the same, but the Social Security Numbers match perfectly.” “Well, that’s something. Perhaps someone stole my Social Security Number to have babies?” She held her ground, refusing to back down. Victor’s brows knitted tighter in frustration. He tossed a stack of photographs onto her lap. Some showcased children’s faces; others were candid shots of the twins, clearly displaying features strikingly similar to hers. Eleanor’s heart raced. She was fuming now, fists clenched. “What the hell, Victor? What do you want from me? You’ve had me followed?” “Eleanor.” His sculpted features were marred by an ice-cold fury that made her instinctively recoil. The urge to bolt from the car surged in her chest. “Shouldn’t it be me asking you that? These two children—explain them.” Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself. What was there to fear? That he would harm her? Eleanor attempted a calm smile, her tone laced with bravado. “What exactly is there to explain? Just a few pictures? They don’t prove anything.” “Stop playing dumb.” Victor’s grip turned ironclad around her wrist, drawing her closer as he demanded, “Just tell me. Who do they belong to?” "Who they belong to is none of your business," she shot back defiantly. His grip was tightening, almost painfully, and she struggled against it. “Mr. Blackwell, have you forgotten? I’m a single woman now. My private life isn’t something you can intrude on. Our divorce papers made that crystal clear.” His expression darkened further as he seized her wrist, pushing her down against the seat with force that left her head spinning. Damn him, couldn’t he just be a little gentler for once? Victor’s gaze bore into her with a mixture of resentment and confusion. “You had my children. Why didn’t you tell me?” “Your children? Come on, you can’t just eat whatever you want and claim the leftovers are yours!” This was about principles for Eleanor. She wouldn’t joke around any longer; her only priority was protecting her kids and keeping them far away from this man. “Pull over. Now.” Eleanor shouted at Arthur Nightingale, who glanced at the rearview mirror, noticing the escalating tension. He complied, stopping the car at the side of the road. “Who commanded you to stop?” Victor barked, making Arthur flinch before he resumed driving. Being stuck in the middle of their heated drama was becoming unbearable. Eleanor took a steadying breath and surrendered, “Fine, I’ll tell you. I admit I had kids, but they’re not yours; they’re from another man. So it’s really none of your concern.” Ignoring Victor’s face, which looked like stone, she implored Arthur again, “Seriously, pull over or I’ll jump out.” Arthur snuck another glance at the dangerously silent Victor and, not seeing any protest, successfully pulled over. Eleanor didn’t look back as she opened the door, ready to escape, but Victor lunged forward, grasping her wrist once more, yanking her back. “Whoa!” In an instant, she tumbled into his arms, her heart racing against her rib cage like it might burst free. He didn’t let go; instead, he wrapped his strong arms around her, as if afraid she would disappear into thin air. Too close for comfort. The thin linen of her top did little to shield her from the raw heat emanating from his palm, and suddenly it felt uncomfortably intimate. The confined space of the car was suffocating, the air lessening with every passing second. “Hey, Mr. Blackwell, we’re not exactly close, are we? This—this is inappropriate,” she stammered. “Inappropriate?” His expression darkened further. “You’ve completely severed ties with me, declaring yourself a ‘single woman,’ yet here we are.” “Exactly. It’s been six years since our divorce. I’m a free woman, capable of moving on and starting anew with someone else, and you, my dear ex-husband, are merely a footnote from my past. Being so close to me now—well, that might raise some eyebrows.” He looked ready to choke the life out of her blossoming confidence. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” he hissed, his grip not loosening. As the car continued down the road, Eleanor remained sharp and alert, consuming the tension that hummed between them. Victor wasn’t just infuriated; he had an agenda—he wanted to know about the kids. But she refused to let him see them. What if he decided to take them away from her? She knew the lengths Blackwell would go to get what he wanted. “Mr. Blackwell, where are you taking me?” Eleanor asked, the rising dread in her stomach palpable. “You know damn well,” he snapped back, his focus unwavering.
Chapter 5
Eleanor Hawthorne pulled away from Victor Blackwell, her tone sharp as she said, “I’d advise you to stop wasting your breath, Mr. Blackwell. A woman like me, with a history that’s hardly squeaky clean, how could it possibly be your child?” She wrapped her self-deprecating humor around her words like a shield, a stark reminder of the wounds inflicted by the Blackwell family in the past. They had masked their cruelty with forged evidence, using her so-called infidelities to stack the cards against her in court. The humiliation, the hurt—those scars were seared into her memory, still fresh and tender. Her heart still ached when she recalled those turbulent days. “Proving the child is mine will shatter all the rumors,” Victor replied, his expression darkening. They’d married under the weight of an arranged commitment, and after the vows, their emotional connection had dwindled. He had spent most of their marriage abroad, while Eleanor’s movements had been orchestrated by his mother. Victor had brushed off the arrangement as trivial until the announcement of a child had rocked his world. “If the child is mine, then all accusations of infidelity can be dismissed,” he insisted, his eyes locked onto hers, earnest yet demanding. “I don’t care. I’m not interested in proving anything to you. The child has nothing to do with you. Just leave me alone. I’m terrified of you at this point,” she snapped back. Silence hung awkwardly between them, thick with resentment. “Now you’re scared? What happened to the girl who didn’t hesitate to sleep with me?” Victor challenged, raising an eyebrow. Eleanor felt the flush rise in her cheeks. She had been bold once, but now that courage felt like a distant memory—her feelings for him had long since cooled, faded into oblivion. They stood there, staring each other down until Victor broke the tense silence. “Regardless, if you have my child, that child will be with me.” He would never let his blood end up elsewhere. “Why should it be with you? I said it's not your child. You’re so eager to be a stepdad, aren’t you?” She glared at him, fury boiling over. The child was hers, born of her own struggles and sacrifices. The thought of him swooping in and taking what was hers felt like theft. “Calling me stepdad almost choked me,” he shot back, irritation flaring in his voice. Before he could say another word, he added, “If you want, I could take responsibility for you too.” “I don’t want that! I’m loving my life post-divorce. I can go wherever I want, wear whatever I want, and be with whomever I want. No one’s calling the shots for me anymore.” Eleanor leaned in closer, her voice thick with challenge. “So please, Mr. Blackwell, don’t waste my time while I’m trying to go on a date with someone. Now, pull over. I need to get out.” “A date?” Victor glared at her, a fresh wave of jealousy washing over him. She was hurrying off to see another man. The car had been locked down tighter than a drum; no matter how hard Eleanor tugged, she wasn’t going anywhere. “Let me out, or I’ll call the cops!” she threatened, voice rising in frustration. “Hold on. Sure, I’ll let you hold on,” he replied, tugging her wrist toward his slender waist. Eleanor jerked back, eyes wide in disbelief. “What did you just say?” Her brain scrambled at his implication—had he really just said that? “Kidnapping is a crime, you know that, right, Mr. Blackwell?” she warned, crossing her arms defiantly. “Kidnapping you? Your arms and legs seem pretty free at the moment, don’t they?” His chilling scoff betrayed his knowledge of her antics. “Are you going to let me out or not?” She shot daggers at him with her glare, imagining her fury could put him six feet under. With no response on his end, Eleanor turned to the driver, “Arthur, can you please pull over?” Arthur Nightingale, Victor’s loyal assistant, glanced at her in the rearview mirror, “Sorry, miss. I need the boss’s go-ahead.” Eleanor’s eyes darted back to Victor, who corrected the assistant, “Miss? She’s my ex-wife.” “Sorry, Eleanor,” Arthur quickly backtracked, knowing better than to mess with the boss's dynamics. Victor had been a suffocating presence, holding onto Eleanor’s past like a jealous ghost. He hadn’t even let anyone near her things after their split. Lydia had learned that the hard way after messing with Eleanor’s jewelry. “Ever think showing a little humility might help you two?” Arthur silently wished as he drove. Eleanor huffed in frustration, throwing out a final threat. “If you don’t let me out now, I swear I’ll take the kid and disappear from Brightmoor. You’ll never find us.” The truth slipped through Victor’s guard, his indifference now mingled with concern. She might just do it out of spite. “Park the car,” he ordered suddenly. Arthur obeyed without question. The moment the vehicle stopped, Eleanor flung open the door and stepped out, ready to bolt. “Remember to keep your distance, Mr. Blackwell. We’re strangers now. And regarding the kid—you have no rights. If you don’t stop bothering me, I will call the police.” With that parting shot, she walked away into the distance, not even looking back to see the impact of her words. Victor watched her figure retreat, a barrage of conflicting emotions swirling inside him. She could be so fickle. Just days ago, she had claimed that not a day went by without thoughts of him, and now she was throwing around the word “stranger” like it was a grenade. No matter her claims, he had to get to the bottom of things regarding that child. To escape Victor’s shadow, Eleanor opted for a maze of backroads leading home, distancing herself from any prying eyes that might seek to follow. Her new place sat on the outskirts, far from the chaos of city life, yet nestled in a calm neighborhood. Clara Fairchild had generously offered Eleanor a shelter without taking ownership, making it almost impossible for Victor to track her down. Once inside, Eleanor dropped her bag at the entrance and called, “Leo, Daisy!” “Mommy’s back!” “Mommy!” In no time at all, her little girl came dashing out, sporting a cute little topknot and those big, expressive eyes full of light. Lily wore tiny pig-shaped slippers that squeaked as she ran, the innocent joy radiating off her was infectious. “Mommy, hug!” her daughter pleaded. “Hold on, sweetie. Let Mommy wash her hands first,” Eleanor replied with a smile. Once she’d scrubbed up, she scooped up her daughter, showering her with kisses. “Where’s my handsome boy?” she called, and soon enough, her son Oliver appeared from the hallway. Eleanor set Lily down and pulled Oliver into a warm embrace. “My two little treasures, how was your day? Did you have fun?”
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