My Husband Called Me a Scullery Maid at His Sect Promotion Banquet — Then I Walked In as the Secret Owner of the Entire $12 Million Religious Compound
The Elders’ confusion over Silas’s toast was palpable, even from where I watched discreetly from the corridor. Eli’s face, usually composed, now wore a tight, strained mask. He understood Silas had pulled back.
A new tremor of fear went through me. Eli was cornered. A cornered animal was the most dangerous.
Within the hour, a messenger arrived at my father’s study. It was a young boy, barely twelve, his face flushed.
“Sister Hannah,” he whispered, bowing his head. “Elder Council has convened. An emergency session. Overseer Eli requests your immediate presence.”
“Requests?” I repeated, my voice calm. “Or demands?”
The boy shifted his weight. “He… he said it was urgent. Regarding your well-being.”
I followed him to a small, windowless meeting room off the main hall. The air inside was thick with tension. The five Elder Council members sat around a polished oak table, their faces grim. Silas sat among them, avoiding my gaze. Eli stood at the head, radiating controlled fury.
“Hannah,” Eli began, his voice dripping with feigned concern. “We are all deeply saddened by your father’s passing. It has been a profound loss for all of New Gilead.”
He paused, letting his words hang in the air, a false preamble.
“But grief,” he continued, his voice softening with manipulative sympathy, “can take many forms. It can cloud judgment. It can lead to… unsound decisions.”
He gestured to a rolled parchment on the table. “I have, with a heavy heart, presented the Council with a petition.”
My eyes flickered to the parchment. It was an official-looking document, sealed with the Council’s wax.
“This petition,” Eli stated, his voice now firm, “addresses concerns raised by myself, and other members of the community, regarding your recent behavior, Hannah. Your withdrawal from social functions, your solitary visits to your father’s study, your… unconventional attire at tonight’s banquet.”
He made it sound like I was a recluse, unstable. My heart hammered against my ribs. This was it. His dirtiest card.
“It is our solemn duty to protect our congregants,” he intoned, looking directly at the Elders. “Especially those who, in their time of sorrow, may be vulnerable to self-harm or, regrettably, the manipulation of others.”
Silas fidgeted in his seat. The Elders exchanged uneasy glances. They were traditional men, easily swayed by appearances and authority.
“The petition,” Eli declared, his gaze now locking onto mine, a cold, triumphant glint in his eyes, “requests that the Elder Council declare you spiritually and mentally incompetent. Temporarily, of course, for your own good. To place you under my legal guardianship, effective before sunrise.”
A gasp rippled through the room. If this passed, all the deeds, all the ledgers, all my father’s careful planning would be rendered meaningless. My legal rights, my inheritance, my very agency, would be stripped away. I would be trapped, silenced, controlled by Eli.
“This will allow me,” Eli concluded, his voice smooth and authoritative, “to manage your affairs, including any property holdings, until such time as your spiritual and mental faculties are fully restored. It is for the protection of your soul, Hannah, and the prosperity of New Gilead.”
He smiled, a chilling, humorless curve of his lips. The Elders looked at me, some with pity, some with concern, all with a clear understanding of the power Eli was attempting to seize. The clock was ticking.
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