Chapter 2: Breakfast in the Gallery
The morning sun filtered through the massive stained-glass windows of the breakfast gallery, casting long, distorted panes of red and gold across the long mahogany table. I sat at the far end, my fingers tracing the rim of my porcelain teacup. Across from me, Julian buttered a piece of toast with deliberate, agonizing slowness. He wore a lighter gray suit today, but the tailoring couldn't soften the predatory set of his shoulders.
Leo was absent, confined to the nursery under Maya’s watchful eye and a private doctor Julian had personally vetted. I hadn't seen my son since the night before, and the silence from the upper floor felt louder than any scream.
“The board members from the children's hospital are arriving at noon,” Julian said without looking up from his plate. His voice was calm, conversational, entirely disconnected from the violence in his grip the previous evening. “They expect to see a united family. A philanthropic household. Do not disappoint me, Eleanor.”
“Julian, Leo needs a real examination. He hit his head hard on the checkered floor,” I said, keeping my tone carefully measured. I had learned years ago that rising to his level of anger only invited punishment; cold logic was the only shield left.
Julian set his knife down with a soft, deliberate clink. He raised his eyes, his gaze sharp as shattered glass. “Leo is fine. He is imaginative, just like his mother used to be when we first met. Sometimes children invent narratives to gain attention. You wouldn't want people whispering that our household is unstable, would you? The foundation merger depends entirely on our immaculate reputation.”
It was always about the reputation. The foundation, the galas, the glowing profiles in glossy magazines—it was a fortress of public approval that hid the rotting foundation beneath.
“I understand,” I murmured, lowering my eyes to my cup.
May you like
“Good,” Julian replied, standing up and adjusting his cuffs. “Maya will help you dress in the navy gown. The press will be here at one o'clock sharp.”
As soon as the heavy oak doors clicked shut behind him, I stood up so fast my chair scraped loudly against the parquet. I didn't wait for an elevator; I took the service stairs two at a time, my heart hammering against my ribs. I needed to see Leo, and I needed an exit plan. The golden handcuffs were closing too tightly, and if I didn't find a way out soon, both my son and I would be crushed by the weight of Julian's empire.
