Chapter 7
Victor tore his gaze away from Eleanor and walked sharply toward Marcus. The tension in the room was suffocating. Eleanor gripped the back of a velvet armchair to steady herself, her knuckles turning bone-white.
“Play it,” Victor ordered, his voice brooking no argument.
Marcus tapped the tablet, angling the screen so Victor could see the high-definition playback clearly. The footage showed the quiet hallway outside the nursery. In the corner of the frame, Clara could be seen dusting the antique console. A moment later, Eleanor walked out of the nursery holding baby Ethan.
On the screen, Eleanor did not look terrified, nor did she look like she was being held at gunpoint by an intruder. Instead, she looked intensely frustrated. The audio, crisp and amplified through the tablet’s speakers, picked up Eleanor’s voice clearly.
“Just stop crying, you little nuisance,” the audio played, capturing Eleanor’s harsh, cold tone—a stark contrast to the loving mother she pretended to be in public. On the screen, Eleanor roughly jerked the baby’s arm upward to silence his wails. Just as the infant let out a sharp shriek of pain, Clara rushed around the corner, grabbing Eleanor’s wrist to stop her from pulling harder.
“Please! Let go of my boy!” Clara had cried out on the video, though the context was entirely different from what Eleanor had initially claimed. It wasn't Clara accusing Eleanor of trying to break the baby's arm out of malice; Clara was physically intervening to stop Eleanor from dislocating the infant's shoulder in a fit of post-partum rage.
Victor stared at the screen, his entire body going completely still. The silence in the living room became absolute. The gold watch on his wrist ticked loudly, the only sound in the vast space. He slowly turned his head to look at Eleanor.
Eleanor was trembling uncontrollably now. The color had completely drained from her face, leaving her skin looking chalky and translucent against the dark red of her dress. The elaborate lie about Julian Vance, the intruder with the key, the threats—it all dissolved into dust under the cold, unblinking lens of the security camera.
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“You lied to me,” Victor said. His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried the terrifying weight of an avalanche about to bury everything in its path.
Eleanor sank to her knees on the marble floor, the fight completely draining out of her. She didn't try to make up another excuse. She simply wept, her hands covering her face as the ugly truth of her actions laid bare the rot at the center of their marriage.
