Shattered Vows And The Heiress's Revenge

The heavy silk sheets slipped off Eleanor's bare skin, replaced instantly by the biting chill of the air conditioning.

Alistair Montgomery rose from the mattress. His movements were efficient, mechanical, and entirely devoid of the heat they had just shared.

Eleanor shifted against the pillows. Her chest still heaved with uneven breaths. She reached out, her fingertips brushing the warm space on the mattress where he had just been.

"Alistair," she whispered.

He didn't look back. He stepped away from the bed, his broad back a wall of muscle and impenetrable distance.

He walked straight into the master bathroom. The heavy oak door clicked shut.

A second later, the harsh sound of running water echoed through the silent bedroom.

Eleanor pulled her knees to her chest. She wrapped the thick duvet around her shoulders, but the cold had already seeped into her bones. A heavy stone dropped into her stomach, pulling her down into the mattress.

Ten minutes later, Alistair walked out.

He was already dressed in a crisp charcoal suit. His handsome face was a mask of smooth, unreadable stone. He didn't glance at the bed. He stood in front of the full-length mirror, his long fingers methodically adjusting his silver cufflinks.

It was as if the last hour had never happened.

Eleanor forced herself to sit up. She swallowed the dry lump in her throat.

"Alistair," she tried again, her voice barely above a breath. "Could we maybe..."

His fingers stopped on his left cufflink. His dark eyes met hers in the reflection of the mirror. They were sharp enough to draw blood.

"Could we what?" he asked.

Eleanor pressed her thumb hard into her opposite palm, using the physical pain to ground herself. "Have another baby. To make the house... warmer."

Alistair turned around. A humorless smirk twisted the corner of his mouth.

"Warmer?" The word dripped with sarcasm. "You want to bring another child into this house just to make it noisier?"

The air in Eleanor's lungs vanished.

"Eleanor, remember your place," Alistair said. His voice was a flat, clinical line. "We have Ethan. That is enough. I don't need another distraction in my life."

Three sharp knocks on the bedroom door shattered the suffocating silence.

"Mr. Montgomery, Mrs. Montgomery," Maria, the head maid, called out from the hallway. "Breakfast is served."

Alistair grabbed his watch from the dresser. He strapped it to his wrist and walked toward the door without a single backward glance.

Eleanor sat alone in the massive bed, her fingernails digging so hard into her palms that the skin turned white.

Twenty minutes later, Eleanor walked down the grand staircase. She wore a simple beige dress, her hair pulled back tightly.

The dining room was cavernous. At the far end of the mahogany table sat Alistair, his eyes already glued to a financial newspaper.

To his right sat his mother, Evelyn Montgomery.

And right beside Evelyn sat five-year-old Ethan.

Evelyn was holding a silver spoon, carefully feeding a piece of scrambled egg