Shattered Vows And The Heiress's Revenge

The sun bled through the curtains of the guest bedroom, painting the floor in pale, sickly light.

Eleanor sat in the armchair by the window. She hadn't slept. She had spent the entire night staring at the wall, feeling the last remaining threads of her marriage snap one by one.

She had to fight. Not for Alistair. For Ethan. She couldn't let Evelyn keep her son, and she couldn't let a woman who wore white tea and musk dictate her life.

She stood up, her joints popping in the quiet room. She walked downstairs.

The house was silent. Alistair's bedroom door was still shut.

Eleanor walked into the living room. On the glass coffee table, right where Alistair had been standing last night, sat his private cell phone. He had forgotten it in his exhausted, panicked state.

As Eleanor walked past, the screen lit up.

A text message notification popped onto the lock screen.

C: I can't sleep, Alistair.

Eleanor stopped. A sharp, physical pain stabbed behind her ribs. She forced her eyes away from the screen. She wouldn't let it break her. Not today.

Suddenly, the phone began to vibrate violently against the glass table.

It wasn't a text. It was a phone call.

Eleanor looked down. The caller ID read: Unknown Number.

She frowned. Alistair was still upstairs. If the office was calling his private cell this early, it had to be a massive emergency.

She reached out and picked up the phone. She swiped the green button and pressed it to her ear.

"Alistair is currently unavailable," Eleanor said, keeping her voice professional.

The line was quiet for a second.

Then, a soft, breathy voice spoke.

"Alistair?"

Eleanor's blood turned to ice.

It wasn't his secretary. It was Cordelia Blackwood. She had somehow acquired his private cell phone number, bypassing all his secretaries.

Cordelia paused, realizing a woman had answered. "Who is this? Put Alistair on the phone."

Her tone wasn't weak or fragile anymore. It was sharp, entitled, and dripping with ownership.

Eleanor's grip on the phone tightened until her knuckles ached. She kept her voice dead calm.

"I am his wife," Eleanor said. "If you need to leave a message for my husband, you can tell me."

A soft, mocking laugh echoed through the speaker.

"His wife?" Cordelia's voice was venomous. "Oh... you're the placeholder. The one they forced him to marry."

Eleanor pressed her thumb into her palm.

"He doesn't love you," Cordelia whispered into the phone. "He never did. He spent five years waiting for me. You are nothing but a temporary inconvenience."

Across the city, inside the glass-walled boardroom of Montgomery Corp.

Alistair sat at the head of the long mahogany table. He had left the house before dawn, unable to stand the quiet of the bedroom. He was currently leading a high-stakes video conference with the London branch, trying to drown his racing thoughts in corporate numbers.

The heavy boardroom doors suddenly burst open.

Victor Kowalski practically ran into the room. His usual robotic composure was completely shattered. He rushed to Alistair's side and leaned down, whispering urgently into his ear.

"Sir. Miss Blackwood is in the emergency room."

Alistair's heart stopped. "What?"

"She slit her wrists in the hospital bathroom," Victor said, his voice tight.

Alistair slammed his hands onto the table and pushed himself up. His chair crashed backward onto the floor. He didn't excuse himself to the executives on the screen. He sprinted out of the room.

Twenty minutes later, Alistair tore through the double doors of the emergency room at St. Catalina Hospital.

Victoria Blackwood, Cordelia's mother, and Beatrice, her younger sister, were standing outside the trauma room. Beatrice was sobbing hysterically.

When Beatrice saw Alistair, she lunged at him. She shoved a hospital phone into his chest.

"This is your fault!" Beatrice screamed, tears streaming down her face. "She was fine! Then she made one phone call to your office, and five minutes later we found her in a pool of blood!"

Alistair looked down at the phone. The call log showed a dialed number. It was his private cell phone. The one he had left on the coffee table at home.

The blood drained from Alistair's head.

He snatched his own work phone from his pocket and dialed his private number.

Back at the estate, Eleanor was still holding the phone, staring blankly at the wall. The device vibrated in her hand. She answered it.

"It's me," Eleanor said calmly.

Alistair's vision went red. A roaring sound filled his ears. The pieces snapped together in his mind, forming a horrific, twisted picture. Eleanor had answered the phone. Eleanor had talked to Cordelia.

"Eleanor Vance!" Alistair roared into the phone. His voice shook the walls of the hospital corridor. "What the hell did you say to her?!"

Eleanor flinched, pulling the phone away from her ear. "What are you talking about?"

"Did you push her to do it?!" Alistair screamed, the veins in his neck bulging. "Are you not satisfied until you drive her to kill herself?!"

Eleanor's breath hitched. A cold sweat broke out over her entire body. "Kill herself? Alistair, I didn't say anything! She called and insulted me, I just told her I was your wife!"

"Shut up!" Alistair cut her off. His voice was a lethal, vibrating blade. "I swear to God, Eleanor, if she doesn't survive this, I will never forgive you. I will destroy you."

Click.

The line went dead.

Eleanor stood in the living room. The dial tone buzzed in her ear like a swarm of hornets.

He didn't ask her what happened. He didn't listen. He just convicted her of murder and sentenced her to death, all to protect the woman who had just mocked her.

The phone dropped from Eleanor's hand, landing softly on the Persian rug.

A physical wave of nausea hit her so hard she had to grab the edge of the coffee table to stay standing. The injustice of it burned her throat like acid. She was entirely alone.