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“You don’t understand!” Fiona’s voice rose shrilly. “She’s always wanted what’s mine. She’ll poison them against me!” >
The old woman shook her head emphatically, silver curls bouncing. “No, no. Beatrice Hayes is your mother. I remember her pregnant with you. So happy, glowing. You have her eyes, my dear.”
Old Mrs. Sterling’s declaration hung in the air like a thunderclap. I blinked rapidly, trying to process her words.
Arthur and I walked in silence to the elevator. The moment the doors closed, leaving us alone, he turned to me.
I couldn’t resist. “Oh, I don’t know. ‘Agree to my terms or I’ll destroy everything you’ve built‘ sounds pretty accurate to me.”
“Excuse me?”
Arthur frowned. “No, of course not.”
“Crystal clear,” I replied, matching his cool tone. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get home. It’s been a long day of being threatened by my gangster husband.”
“The Sterlings are too shrewd to be manipulated by someone like Elara,” Alistair said dismissively. “Besides, Old Mrs. Sterling’s condition means her perceptions can’t be trusted. If she’s taken a liking to Elara, it’s meaningless. The power lies with Arthur Sterling now, and from what Caleb says, he’s a cold, calculating man who trusts no
one.”
I forced a smile. “Professor Wright. How nice to see you.”
“My grandmother somehow knows about your allergy–something so specific it couldn’t be guesswork. How?”
For a moment, I thought I saw amusement flicker across his face, but it was gone so quickly I might have imagined it.
The Dubois mansion was rarely quiet, but tonight an unusual tension filled the air.
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4
Fiona paced the study, her designer heels clicking against the hardwood floor.
“How did you know that?” I asked, trying to keep my voice even.
“I see,” Alistair said finally. “And you’re certain about this information?”
Fiona’s face drained of color. Her lips moved silently, forming words no one could hear.
“Perhaps,” Old Mrs. Sterling said vaguely, turning her attention to her meal.
As he hurried away, Arthur turned to me, eyes narrowed. “Gangster husband?”
Professor Wright’s mouth fell open. “My goodness, so it’s true! You are the gangster husband she mentioned!”
He glanced between Arthur and me, clearly sensing the tension. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”
I blinked innocently. “Did I say that? I might have mentioned you were… persuasive in your business dealings.”
The professor’s eyes widened. “Sterling? As in Sterling Group?” He looked at Arthur with new interest. “The man who threatened to crush Ms. Dubois’s company if she didn’t agree to your terms?”
He hung up, setting his phone down with deliberate care. When he looked up at Fiona, his eyes were cold with fury.
Arthur’s eyes snapped to mine, hard and suspicious. I shook my head slightly, silently denying any manipulation on my part.
“It has a certain ring to it, don’t you think?” I couldn’t help the smile that tugged at my lips. “Much more interesting than ‘corporate bully.”
His lips curled into a cold smile. “My protection. Trust me, Elara, you’d rather have me
as an ally than an enemy.”
Arthur’s head snapped toward me. “Gangster husband?”
I froze mid–reach for my silverware. I’d never told her about my mango allergy. In fact, I’d only discovered it last year during a work conference when I’d tried a tropical
dessert.
I walked away before he could respond, feeling his eyes on my back until I turned the
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corner.
“Just remember our agreement,” he said, his voice low. “Make my grandmother happy, and your future remains bright. Fail, and…” He let the threat hang unfinished.
“I don’t care what the truth is,” he said, his face inches from mine. “I don’t care if you somehow researched my family so thoroughly you know which buttons to push with my grandmother. I don’t care if you’ve been meeting her secretly.”
“Mrs. Sterling, I think you’re confused,” I said gently. “Genevieve Thorne is my mother. Mrs. Dubois is Fiona’s mother.”
“I think you’ve been misinformed,” he said smoothly.
Professor Wright glanced at his watch. “Oh dear, I’m late to check on my nephew. It was lovely seeing you, Ms. Dubois. And, er, nice meeting you, Mr. Sterling.”
As he listened, his expression darkened. His eyes flicked to Fiona, who stood frozen in place, eyes wide with fear.
He held up a hand, cutting me off. “All I care about is that she’s happy. She believes you’re her granddaughter–in–law, and she wants you in her life. So that’s what you’ll
-be.”
“And what do I get out of this arrangement?”
“What game are you playing?” His voice was low, dangerous.
“I brought you dinner,” Arthur said, clearly trying to change the subject. “Your favorite -salmon with dill sauce.”
“Would you care to explain,” he said softly, dangerously, “why Arthur Sterling’s office is calling to inform me that you’ve been spreading malicious rumors about his wife, who, apparently, is Elara?”
Alistair Dubois sipped his whiskey, seemingly unmoved by his daughter’s distress. “You’re overreacting, Fiona. So what if she’s somehow connected to the Sterlings? It won’t affect your engagement to Caleb.”
Old Mrs. Sterling allowed herself to be distracted, but her eyes kept drifting back to me with that same knowing look. A nurse brought in a small table, setting up the meal Arthur had arranged.
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Another pause as he listened.
The elevator doors opened, and Arthur grabbed my elbow, steering me down an empty- hallway. His touch was firm but not painful, his fingers warm through the thin fabric of my blouse.
Old Mrs. Sterling looked confused by my question. “You told me, dear. Before the wedding.”
“Then she couldn’t possibly know,” he insisted. “Unless you’ve been meeting her behind my back.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Of course,” I promised, squeezing her fingers gently.
“Very well. I understand the seriousness of the situation. Thank you for bringing it to my attention, Mr. Mercer. I’ll handle it personally.”
Fiona twisted her hands together. “But what if-”
We both turned to see Professor Wright hurrying down the hallway, a folder clutched to his chest.
“And you’ll keep coming,” he said. It wasn’t a question. “You’ll play the part of the devoted wife, make her believe this marriage is real.”
“Not at all,” I said quickly. “Professor Wright, this is Arthur Sterling. Arthur, Professor Wright was my favorite professor at university.”
Arthur’s expression remained impassive, but I could see the flash of irritation in his
eyes.
Arthur stepped forward, placing a steadying hand on his grandmother’s shoulder. “Grandmother, you’re mixing up your memories again. Elara was raised as the illegitimate daughter in the Dubois household.”
“No mango in the sauce?” Old Mrs. Sterling asked sharply.
When the nurse came to announce visiting hours were ending, I felt both relief and reluctance. I needed time to think, but I also wanted answers,
My heart hammered against my ribs. This couldn’t be true. It was just the confused
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ramblings of an elderly woman with memory issues.
The rest of dinner passed in strained conversation. I picked at my food while my mind raced with questions. How could she know about my allergy? And what did she mean about Mrs. Dubois being my mother?
“It’s a fact. Cross me, disappoint my grandmother, and I will personally ensure your career, your reputation, and that little company you’re so desperate to take public are destroyed.”
I lifted my chin defiantly. “I’m already doing that. I came today, didn’t I?”
Alistair answered, his voice smoothly professional. “Alistair Dubois speaking”
“And for Elara,” Arthur continued, “grilled chicken and vegetables.”
“Must have been in one of our conversations here at the hospital,” I suggested weakly,
though I knew we’d never discussed allergies.
The sharp ring of Alistair’s phone cut her off. He glanced at the screen, his eyebrows rising in surprise.
“I haven’t-”
“Philip Mercer,” he murmured, recognition in his voice. “Arthur Sterling’s right–hand
man.”
Before I could respond, a voice called out from behind us. “Ms. Dubois! There you are!”
“You’ll come back tomorrow?” Old Mrs. Sterling asked, taking my hand.
“She’s going to ruin everything,” she muttered, glancing anxiously at her father. “She always does.”
“Are you serious right now?” I felt my temper flaring. “When would I have time for these secret meetings? Between working at your company and avoiding your family?”
“Good. She’s terribly allergic, the old woman said matter–of–factly. “Her face swells up something awful.”
“Raised as, perhaps,” she insisted, her eyes suddenly sharp and clear. “But born of Beatrice. I’d stake my life on it.”
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“She’s your mother!”
I crossed my arms defensively. “I have no idea. I never told her about it.”
“I thought that was you,” he said, slightly out of breath. “I was visiting my nephew- appendicitis, poor lad–and saw you across the lobby.”
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