Chapter 3
Dawn broke over the sprawling estate, casting pale gray light through the tall leaded windows of Julian’s private study. He had not slept. Instead, he spent the night reviewing financial records, security logs, and personnel files, piecing together a terrifying pattern of abuse and systematic control. Eleanor had not come to their master suite; she had retreated to the east wing, barricading herself behind locked doors and refusing to answer when maids knocked with breakfast trays.
At eight o'clock, the heavy oak door of the study swung open without an invitation. Eleanor stood on the threshold, having already changed into a tailored white cashmere dress. Her blonde hair was swept up into an immaculate chignon, and her diamond necklace caught the morning light. There was no remorse in her demeanor, only a cold, calculated impatience that sickened Julian.
"Are you finished with your little temper tantrum, Julian?" Eleanor asked, walking over to the mahogany desk and pouring herself a cup of black coffee from the silver service. "Or do we need to discuss your dramatic exit from the hallway last night?"
Julian remained seated behind the desk, his expression carved from stone. He steepled his fingers, watching her with a clinical detachment that caused her hand to pause midway to her lips. "Sit down, Eleanor."
"I will stand," she snapped, setting the porcelain cup down with a sharp clatter. "You are acting like a petulant child. The boy is too soft. He weeps at the slightest inconvenience. My father raised me with a riding crop across my shoulders, and look where it got me. I am a Vance."
"You are a criminal," Julian said softly, the quiet deadliness of his tone cutting through her defiance. He slid a thick manila folder across the polished wood toward her. "Last night I accessed the security archive from the private cameras in the east wing. The ones you didn't know were recording audio."
Eleanor’s breath hitched, the porcelain cup rattling slightly against its saucer. For the first time, a flicker of genuine terror crossed her carefully maintained features. She did not reach for the folder.
"You hacked the system?" she whispered.
"I own the company that installed it, Eleanor. It took me ten minutes," Julian replied, standing up to his full height and towering over her across the desk. "Months of footage. You locking him in dark rooms. You withholding meals. You hitting him with books when his reading scores fell below your impossible standards. It’s all there, backed up on three separate encrypted servers off-site."
She stepped back, her manicured fingers flying to her throat as if trying to catch her breath. "You can't use that. It will destroy our family name. The board of directors, the society papers—they will ruin us."
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"The family name is already in the dirt," Julian said, walking around the desk to stand inches from her. "Today, you are leaving. Clara has packed your bags. The divorce lawyers will be at your family estate before noon. If you fight me on custody, I will release every second of that footage to the district attorney."
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