Chapter 6
Eleanor’s breath hitched, ragged and uneven, as she fought to steady herself against the storm raging within. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a wild beast caged by her resolve, as she locked Logan with a glare forged of steel and sorrow. “If you don’t want me calling Riley right now, let me go,” she said, her voice a low, fierce tremor. “Another hospital stay might await her if she knew you were here, kissing me in the shadows.”
Logan’s gaze sharpened, a predator’s stare, his expression a mask of unreadable stone. “Is that meant to scare me?” His words dripped with challenge, daring her to push further.
“I’m stating the truth,” she replied, unflinching, her chin lifting as if to meet his storm head-on.
In a single, fluid motion, he pressed her against the car’s cold metal, the chill seeping through her coat as his body pinned hers. “If you’re fine with her hearing your gasps beneath me, go ahead and dial,” he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. “And while we’re on it—it’s been too long since we’ve tangled in a car. Front seat or back? Your choice.” His tone was a velvet threat, laced with a dark promise.
Fear surged through her, a frigid current that set her fingers trembling at the edge of his words’ reality. “Riley’s fragile heart couldn’t take it,” she countered, her voice steady despite the quake within. “Wouldn’t her pain rip you apart?”
The menace in his stance ebbed, his grip loosening as he stepped back, a reluctant retreat. “Fine, you’re spared—for now. But you’re coming home with me tonight.” His eyes burned with a possessive fire, unyielding.
Eleanor stumbled back, widening the gulf between them, her breath catching in relief. “My mind hasn’t changed about the divorce,” she said, her words a quiet banner of defiance waved against his will.
Logan’s stare bore into her, intense and unrelenting. “Bold words. Let’s see how long that spine holds.” His voice carried a mocking edge, a gauntlet thrown. She watched, tension bleeding from her frame, as the Rolls-Royce’s taillights bled into the night, swallowed by the dark. Only then did she turn, her steps heavy as she climbed back to safety.
The next morning, Eleanor plunged into the fray of job applications, her fingers dancing across keys with determined precision. Forty-eight hours bled into a silence punctuated only by rejection notices, each one a pebble added to the weight on her chest. She’d been a prodigy once—Fuilver University’s laurels hers at nineteen, a medical mind sharpened to brilliance. Her path had gleamed with promise, a prestigious post in Fuilver’s hospitals within reach, until Clara’s illness had tethered her to Elesrora’s shores. Now, her criminal record loomed like a specter, barring her from the sanctuaries of modern medicine. She’d braced for this, but the sting of rejection gnawed at her, a quiet frustration blooming beneath her resolve.
The sun dipped low, casting amber streaks through the windows, when she returned to find Grayson and Amelia in the living room, their faces shadowed with worry. Amelia’s fury simmered, a storm barely leashed. “Uncle Grayson, Amelia—what’s wrong?” Eleanor asked, her voice threading with concern.
“It’s nothing,” Grayson said, his tone softening like a balm. “Have you eaten? I kept some food warm—let me heat it for you.”
“I’ve eaten,” she replied, pressing gently. “Please, tell me what’s troubling you.”
“You’ve got gall to ask!” Amelia erupted, arms crossed tight as if holding her anger in place. “Marrying into the Barrett should’ve lifted us all, Eleanor. Instead, you’ve dragged us into ruin. Grayson and I poured our souls into that store, and now it’s being ripped away because of you!”
“The store’s closing?” Clarity dawned, sharp and cold, in Eleanor’s eyes. “Logan’s doing, isn’t it?”
Grayson exhaled, a weary gust. “They didn’t name him, but the signs point true. Few can buy a whole street of shops in one sweep.”
“I’m so sorry,” Eleanor said, her voice thick with regret. “This chaos is my fault—my mess to clean up.”
Amelia’s rage flared, painting her cheeks red. “Logan doesn’t want this divorce—that’s why he’s lashing out! Why fight being Mrs. Barrett? Is that life so wretched?”
“Enough,” Grayson cut in, his voice a firm anchor. “Eleanor’s always had a clear head. She wouldn’t push for divorce without cause.”
“Cause?” Amelia scoffed, her laugh a jagged edge. “So Logan’s got another woman—so what? Men like him don’t stay true. Ten lovers wouldn’t shock me!” Her tone softened, cajoling. “Listen, Eleanor. Go back, stay Mrs. Barrett. You’ll live in splendor, and we’ll all reap the rewards.”
Ice seeped into Eleanor’s gaze, her expression hardening. “I can’t, Amelia. Loyalty is the heart of marriage. Without it, you’re left with a hollow shell, a pretty lie.” Her words were a quiet blade, cutting through the air.
“High ideals!” Amelia’s eyes rolled, exasperation dripping. “I’m trying to save you, and you preach at me? This divorce leaves you empty-handed and stokes Logan’s wrath—look how we’re paying for it!”
“I’ll fix this,” Eleanor vowed, rising with a fire in her chest. “He won’t touch your lives again. I need to step away now.” She turned toward her room.
“We’re not done—” Amelia began, but Grayson’s hand on her arm stilled her.
“She’s said her piece,” he said firmly. “Eleanor will handle it—she always does.”
“I’m helping her!” Amelia protested.
“She doesn’t need your lessons,” Grayson replied, his tone final.
Eleanor shut her door, muffling their voices, the weight of her choices pressing down like a stone on her shoulders. Logan’s reach would stretch, relentless, until he bent her to his will. She’d expected his meddling, but the collateral pain—the thought of Grayson and Amelia suffering—twisted her heart like a blade. With a surge of purpose, she packed her suitcase, stepping into the hall.
“Eleanor, where are you going?” Grayson rushed over, worry etching deep lines into his face.
“I can’t stay, Uncle Grayson,” she said gently, her voice a soft resolve. “Leaving takes away Logan’s reason to target you.”
He sighed, a sound heavy with regret. “This isn’t your burden, Eleanor. I wish I could shield you from him.”
“It’s my tangle that caught you,” she replied. “I’ll sort it out.”
“Promise you’ll care for yourself,” he urged, his eyes searching hers.
“I promise,” she said, a vow sealed with a faint smile.
She’d scouted apartments days before, hesitating while her job hunt faltered. Now, necessity forced her hand. A call to a real estate agent secured the lone unit she’d eyed—furnished, ready, a blank slate. She arranged her sparse belongings, the quiet of the space a fragile cocoon. Retrieving her phone, she unblocked Logan’s number and sent a message, her resolve hardening as she thought of the life flickering within her. Returning to him was no option—not if she meant to guard her child. Work was her lifeline now, her baby’s future hinging on it.
Her phone’s ring shattered the stillness, Logan’s name a stark intrusion. She rejected it, only for it to shrill again. With a steadying breath, she answered. “My text said all I needed to,” she stated, firm.
“Mrs. Barrett?” A stranger’s voice, not Logan’s, crackled through. “This is the Glory Club. Mr. Barrett is drunk—too far gone. Can you come get him?”
“His security can manage,” she said. “His driver’s surely nearby.”
“The driver won’t touch him like this,” the man pressed. “The club’s closing soon, Mrs. Barrett. We’d be grateful for your help.”
“Fine,” she relented, ending the call. She grabbed her coat, the night air biting as she hailed a taxi to the Glory Club, Elesrora’s crown jewel of excess. She ascended to the top floor, Logan’s private suite a familiar haunt. Her steps slowed, the door ajar, a sliver of light spilling out.
Through the gap, she glimpsed two figures entwined, lips locked in a fervent kiss. Their faces blurred in the dimness, but recognition struck like lightning—Logan and Riley, bound in a moment that carved a fresh wound into her soul.
