👉 Previous Action: You chose to involve Victor Sorel’s syndicate, leading to Eleanor’s silent disarming.
The flight back to the DeWitt main estate in Greenwich, Connecticut, felt like a journey into a different dimension. Grant sat beside me, equally silent. The air in the private jet was heavy, pregnant with unspoken consequences.
As the car pulled up to the grand wrought-iron gates, I saw them. Not the usual family security, but new faces. Dark luxury sedans were parked discreetly around the perimeter. Men in perfectly tailored suits, their expressions unreadable, patrolled the manicured lawns. Victor Sorel’s representatives.
The household staff moved with an unnatural quiet, their eyes carefully averted as I entered the sprawling mansion. No greetings. No familiar chatter. Just hushed movements and palpable tension. The weight of unseen forces hung in every opulent room.
I walked through the silent halls, past the priceless artwork and the gleaming marble. The conservatory, a glass-encased sanctuary usually filled with light and laughter, was now steeped in a chilling stillness.
Eleanor sat there, motionless, in her favorite high-backed chair. She was staring out at the fountain in the meticulously sculpted gardens, her profile etched against the setting sun. Her hands, usually poised and commanding, rested limply in her lap. Her elegant silk dress seemed to hang on her, the vibrant color now muted.
There was no anger on her face, no fury, no dramatic display. Only a hollow, defeated expression that spoke volumes. The matriarch, stripped of her command, waited.
A tall man in a dark suit, his presence utterly dominant, stood by the conservatory archway. He met my gaze with a single, assessing nod. Sorel’s chief operative. He then melted back into the shadows of the hallway.
The stage was set.
➡️ Read CHAPTER 13 to continue the story
+ There are no comments
Add yours