Chapter 8
Alistair walked to the end of the hospital corridor, stopping by a large window that overlooked the dark city skyline. He leaned his shoulder against the cold glass and pressed the phone to his ear.
It rang twice before she answered.
"Hello."
Eleanor's voice was completely flat. There was no anger, no tears, no panic. Just a dead, empty void.
Alistair rubbed the bridge of his nose, a headache throbbing behind his eyes. "It's me."
Eleanor took a slow breath. She pushed down the bile rising in her throat. "How is she?"
Alistair's jaw clenched. He mistook her calm tone for cold indifference. The image of Cordelia's bleeding wrist flashed in his mind.
"She's alive. No thanks to you," Alistair snapped, his voice dripping with venom.
Eleanor closed her eyes. The pain in her chest was so sharp it felt like a physical blade slicing through her ribs. "I told you, I didn't do anything."
"You didn't do anything?" Alistair let out a harsh, mocking laugh. "If you hadn't provoked her, she wouldn't be lying in a hospital bed right now. You couldn't just keep your mouth shut, could you?"
He had swallowed Beatrice and Victoria's lies whole. He didn't even give Eleanor a chance to defend herself.
Eleanor's fingers gripped the edge of her mattress. She was done fighting a ghost. She was done fighting a man who wanted to be blind.
"Are you coming back tonight?" Eleanor asked. Her voice betrayed a tiny, humiliating sliver of hope.
Alistair didn't hesitate for a single second.
"No." His answer was a blunt force trauma to her heart. "Her condition is unstable. I need to stay here."
The silence on the line was deafening.
Her husband was openly declaring that he was spending the night at the hospital, guarding the bedside of his former lover. It was the ultimate disrespect. It was a public execution of her dignity as his wife.
Alistair heard the silence. A strange, uncomfortable prickle crawled up his spine. He suddenly felt the need to establish control.
"Eleanor, listen to me," Alistair said, his tone shifting to a commanding, authoritative cadence. "I told her today, and I am telling you now. I am not divorcing you. The position of the Montgomery family matriarch will always be yours. Do you understand?"
He thought he was giving her a guarantee. He thought he was throwing her a lifeline.
Eleanor let out a sound. It started as a breath, and turned into a low, chilling laugh.
The laugh echoed through the phone, raising the hairs on Alistair's arms. It was a laugh of pure, shattered devastation.
He was telling her that she could keep the empty title of "wife," while he kept his heart and his nights for another woman. He wanted her to be a well-dressed mannequin in his mansion.
"I understand," Eleanor whispered.
Before Alistair could say another word, she pulled the phone away and hit the red button.
Click.
Alistair stared at his phone. The dial tone buzzed in his ear. A sudden, violent wave of panic crashed into his chest. He pulled his phone away and stared at the screen. She had hung up on him. Eleanor never hung up on him.
He shoved the phone into his pocket, his heart hammering against his ribs. He felt like he had just made a catastrophic mistake, but he couldn't figure out what it was.
Back in the Montgomery estate, Eleanor sat on the edge of the guest bed.
She didn't cry. The tears were completely gone. Her body felt light, almost floating, as if a massive, suffocating weight had finally been severed from her neck.
She picked up her tablet from the nightstand.
She opened the web browser. Her fingers didn't tremble. They moved with precise, lethal intent.
She typed a name into the search bar.
Daniel Miller. Divorce Attorney. New York.
She hit enter.
The screen populated with the profile of the most ruthless, expensive divorce lawyer in the city. A man known for tearing wealthy families apart and securing custody for mothers.
Eleanor stared at the phone number on the screen. She didn't call it yet. She needed to secure her assets. She needed to prepare for the bloodbath Evelyn Montgomery would unleash.
But the decision was made.
Alistair spent the entire night sitting in the uncomfortable plastic chair in the hospital, his mind violently replaying Eleanor's chilling laugh.
Eleanor spent the entire night awake, her eyes fixed on the ceiling, plotting the destruction of her own marriage.
Something fundamental had died. And the war had officially begun.
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