Chapter 5 - The Locked Drawer
Eleanor’s hand shook uncontrollably as she pulled open the heavy bottom drawer of the mahogany desk. Inside sat a thick manila envelope, stamped with the logo of a prestigious downtown medical diagnostics laboratory. The red seal was unbroken, bearing Julian’s name across the flap. Eleanor pulled the envelope out, her red fingernails tearing through the paper with desperate urgency as Julian stopped inches away from her, his dark eyes fixed on the documents with a dangerous intensity.
“Don't open that, Eleanor,” Julian warned, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly whisper that brooked no argument. “Some doors, once opened, can never be closed again. What is inside that envelope is a private matter between me and my business interests.”
“Business interests?” Eleanor cried out, her voice cracking with a mixture of heartbreak and fury as she pulled out the folded medical papers. “You tracked paternity tests! You investigated a twenty-five-year-old maid working in our home while telling me you were working late on corporate acquisitions!”
Eleanor unfolded the crisp white pages under the dim desk lamp. Her eyes scanned the medical jargon quickly, hunting for the final conclusion. When her eyes hit the bolded summary section, her breath hitched completely. The paper fluttered from her trembling fingers, drifting slowly down to land on the Persian rug at her feet.
The DNA match was ninety-nine point nine percent positive. The father of Clara’s unborn child was indeed Julian Vance.
Eleanor backed away from her husband as if he were a venomous snake, her hands flying up to cover her mouth to stifle a sob. The elegant facade she had maintained for years in high society shattered entirely, leaving behind a woman betrayed by the two people she trusted most in her home.
“You disgusting hypocrite,” Eleanor whispered, tears streaming freely down her face now, ruining her makeup. “You brought her into this house, you compromised her, and then you blamed her for everything just to cover your tracks.”
Julian let out a long, slow sigh, his posture shifting from defensive to coldly pragmatic. The charming mask he wore for society slipped away entirely, revealing the hardened criminal underworld connections hinted at by his tattoos. He didn’t bother denying it anymore.
“I did what I had to do to protect our assets, Eleanor,” Julian said flatly, taking a step toward his wife with a chilling lack of remorse. “This estate, our investments, my freedom—they depend on keeping this family intact, whether you like it or not.”
Before Eleanor could react, a sharp, piercing cry of pain echoed from the doorway. Clara slumped heavily against the wooden frame, her hand clutching her swollen belly as her knees buckled completely beneath her.
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“Mrs. Vance... Mr. Vance...” Clara gasped out, her face turning chalk-white as she slid down the wall onto the floor. “The stress... something is wrong. I think... I think the baby is coming early.”
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