Chapter 3 - The Catalyst of Ruin
Julian pulled a linen napkin from his collar, his face burning red from the slap, but he refused to meet his wife's eyes. "Eleanor, control yourself! My mother is teaching him respect! He broke a priceless heirloom dish—"
"He is a child!" Eleanor roared, her voice echoing into the high ceilings.
She dropped to her knees on the cold marble, completely ignoring the tomato sauce that stained the knees of her trousers. She pulled Leo into her arms, wrapping her black blazer around his small, trembling frame. The boy buried his face into the nook of her neck, his tiny arms locking around her shoulders in a desperate, suffocating grip.
"Mommy's here, Leo," Eleanor whispered softly into his dark hair, her voice instantly shifting into a gentle, protective hush. "I'm here, baby. Nobody is going to hurt you ever again."
Victoria recovered her balance, her face flushed with indignance. She smoothed down her silk dress, her diamond rings clicking together. "You insolent, common creature! You bring your street manners into my dining hall? You hit my son in his own house?"
Victoria took a step forward, raising her hand as if to strike Eleanor. "You and this boy are a stain on the Sterling legacy! I gave you a place in this family, and this is how you repay me? You are nothing! This house belongs to the Sterling bloodline!"
Several family members around the table murmured in agreement, emboldened by the matriarch's wrath. A cousin chuckled quietly under his breath, taking a sip of his drink. "She really thinks she can command this room," he whispered to his wife.
Eleanor heard the chuckle. She felt her son trembling against her chest.
Slowly, Eleanor stood up. She carried Leo on her left hip, his small head tucked securely under her chin. Her eyes, cold and dark, swept across the faces of the Sterling family—the aunts, the uncles, the coward of a husband, and the arrogant old woman who thought wealth gave her the right to torture a child.
"You think this house belongs to your bloodline?" Eleanor asked. Her voice was no longer screaming. It had dropped into an icy, dead tone that carried far more terror than her rage ever could.
"It does!" Victoria spat. "Every stone, every piece of silver, every inch of this land! You have nothing!"
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Eleanor looked at the massive, twelve-foot marble dining table, loaded with heavy silver serving dishes, crystal decanters, and roast meats. She set her feet shoulder-width apart.
"Nobody laughs at my child," Eleanor whispered.
