Chapter 225
Chapter 225:
Eleanor paled. She looked at Aurora with pure hatred. “You shut your mouth, you trailer trash. You’re enjoying this.”
“I am not enjoying a child’s death,” Aurora said. “But I am enjoying watching the truth hunt you down.”
The Matriarch closed her eyes. She looked old. Ancient. The weight of the family’s sins seemed to be crushing her into the wheelchair.
“Get out,” the Matriarch whispered.
Eleanor blinked. “Me?”
“Preston,” the Matriarch clarified, opening her eyes. “Go to your lawyers. Sue us. Take everything Vivian has. We will not contest it.”
Eleanor gasped. “Mother! You can’t be serious! The trust fund—”
“Silence!” The Matriarch slammed her cane down again. The rubber tip squeaked against the floor. “You will be silent, Eleanor. Or you will be disowned before sunset.”
Preston looked at the old woman, then at Aurora. He didn’t say thank you. There was no gratitude in grief, only pain. He turned and walked out the door, a broken man leaving a broken house.
The silence returned, but now it was different. It was the silence of a verdict being delivered.
The family lawyer, Mr. Henderson, stepped into the foyer, looking pale. He was flanked by two police detectives.
“Mrs. Kensington,” Henderson said, addressing Eleanor. “The police need to speak with you regarding the substances found in Julian’s room. And Vivian’s phone records.”
Eleanor backed up a step. “I… I need to go to the hospital. My daughter is hurt.”
“The police are already at the hospital, ma’am,” one of the detectives said. “You can answer our questions here, or in a holding cell.”
Aurora watched as the color drained from Eleanor’s face completely. It was the first time she had ever seen genuine fear in her eyes. Not fear of social embarrassment, but fear of consequences.
Aurora turned to the butler, Alfred, who was standing by the wall, trying to be invisible.
“Fresh tea, please, Alfred,” she said. “And maybe something stronger for the Matriarch.”
Eleanor glared at her, her lips peeling back in a snarl. “You did this. You ruined us.”
“I didn’t drive the car nineteen years ago,” Aurora said softly, looking at the Matriarch. “And I didn’t send those texts yesterday. You did this to yourselves. I’m just the mirror.”
The Matriarch beckoned her with a trembling hand. “Aurora. My study. Now.”
Aurora followed her, leaving Eleanor to the wolves.
The private suite at Mount Sinai Hospital smelled of lavender disinfectant and money. It was designed to make wealthy people forget they were mortal, but no amount of thread-count sheets could mask the smell of blood and iodine.
Vivian lay in the bed, her arm heavily bandaged and strapped to her side. She was awake, her eyes darting around the room with a drug-fueled haze.
Eleanor burst into the room, bypassing the nurse station. Edward followed her, looking like a ghost haunting his own life.
“Dr. Shaw!” Eleanor shrieked, spotting the doctor by the monitor. “Tell me she’s fine. Tell me the surgery worked.”
Dr. Evelyn Shaw didn’t look up from her tablet immediately. She adjusted her glasses, her face grim. She was a woman who respected medicine, and she knew exactly who—and what—Vivian was.