Jilted Heiress: Her Reign Has Begun

Etta Stark POV:

Corina was dressed in a soft, white maternity dress, the picture of virginal innocence. Her hair was pulled back simply, and her makeup was minimal, designed to highlight the pale, fragile look she had perfected. She looked like a frightened doe caught in the headlights. A harmless, love-struck girl who had accidentally stumbled into a world of power and intrigue.

It was a masterful performance.

Fremont was leaning toward her, whispering something in her ear that made her blush. He placed a protective hand on the small of her back.

The entire table had fallen silent. The clinking of cutlery, the low murmur of conversation-it all died. The Warren elders looked profoundly uncomfortable, their gazes shifting from me to Fremont to the floor.

I stood at the end of the table, the silent, rightful queen who had just found a usurper on her throne.

I did not raise my voice. I did not need to.

"Get out of my seat," I said. The words were quiet, but they cut through the silence like a shard of glass.

Corina jumped, her eyes widening in fabricated shock. She knocked over her water glass, the crystal clattering against the plate. "Oh! I' m so sorry," she stammered, her lower lip trembling. She looked at Fremont, her eyes welling with tears. "Fremont, I…"

"It' s just a chair, Etta," Fremont said, his voice tight with annoyance. He didn' t even look at me. He was too busy dabbing at Corina' s dress with his napkin.

"It is not 'just a chair,' " I replied, my voice as hard as steel. "That is the seat of the lady of this house. A position you are not, and never will be, qualified to hold. Now, for the last time, get out."

Corina let out a small sob and buried her face in Fremont' s shoulder.

"For God' s sake, Etta, stop it," Fremont snapped, finally glaring at me. "She' s pregnant. She needs to be close to me in case she feels unwell. Show some compassion."

Compassion. The word was a lit match in a room full of gasoline.

"That seat," I said, my voice rising, "was bought with my father' s life. It was paid for with the entirety of the Stark legacy. It represents a promise made in blood. What right does she have to sit there? What has she ever sacrificed?"

Fremont shot to his feet, the chair scraping loudly against the marble floor. He moved to stand in front of Corina, shielding her with his body as if I were a physical threat. "She has the right because she is carrying my son!" he roared, his voice echoing in the cavernous room. "And I will not have anyone, not even you, disrespect the mother of my child!"

He was protecting her. From me.

A memory, sharp and unwanted, flashed through my mind. I was seven years old, cornered by a growling dog in the garden. Fremont, then a boy of twelve, had stood in front of me just like this, his arms spread wide, yelling at the dog to go away. He had promised me then, his voice fierce and protective, "I' ll always keep you safe, Etta. Always."

That boy was gone. In his place stood a stranger who looked at me with cold fury. A man who had transferred his loyalty, his protection, his entire world, to another woman.

The dinner was over before it began. The room emptied in a flurry of awkward apologies and averted eyes, leaving the three of us standing in the wreckage.

That night, Fremont came to my room. He reeked of whiskey and self-righteousness.

"You embarrassed me tonight, Etta," he slurred, leaning against the doorframe. "You embarrassed Corina."

I said nothing. I simply unlocked my phone and held it out to him. On the screen was the thread of Corina' s harassing messages, culminating in the intimate photo of them in his bed.

He stared at it, the color draining from his face. For a moment, he looked genuinely stunned.

"She… she was just scared," he stammered, recovering quickly. "She' s insecure. I' ll talk to her." He offered a pathetic, half-hearted apology on her behalf.

He then tried to wrap his arms around me from behind, burying his face in my hair. The smell of another woman was on his skin. I felt my stomach heave.

"Let' s just get through this," he murmured against my ear. "Once I' m CEO, I' ll marry you. I promise. Just be patient. Try to understand Corina. She' s been through a lot."

I felt a violent revulsion so powerful it was a physical force. I shoved him away from me, stumbling back.

"Get your hands off me," I hissed, my voice filled with a loathing that surprised even me.

He looked at me, his drunken eyes struggling to focus.

"I will not marry you, Fremont," I said, the words tasting like freedom on my tongue. "Not now. Not ever."

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