Chapter 3
Julian drove his sports car back to the estate like a madman, the engine roaring through the gated entrance and screeching to a halt on the gravel driveway. He threw the car door open, rushing up the stone steps of the mansion he had proudly called his own since his father passed away. He slammed his hand against the smart lock, but the red light flashed defiantly. The access code had been changed. Panic flared hot and sharp in his chest. He pounded on the heavy oak door until the brass knocker rattled.
After a tense eternity, the door clicked open. Martha stood in the entryway, her face pale, her hands nervously clutching the fabric of her black jacket. Her eyes darted anxiously past Julian toward the empty driveway before meeting his furious gaze.
"Open the damn door, Martha!" Julian yelled, pushing past her into the grand foyer. "What kind of sick joke is this? Where are my keys? Where is my digital override?"
Martha closed the door slowly, her footsteps echoing nervously on the marble. She didn't offer to take his coat or his car keys as she always did. Instead, she stood her ground near the grand staircase, her posture rigid.
"Mr. Julian, I received an official notification from the estate management office this morning," Martha said, her voice shaking slightly. "My employment contract has been transferred. I no longer report to you."
Julian stopped dead in his tracks, turning around to face her with disbelief burning in his dark eyes. "Transferred? To whom? I pay your salary! I own this property!"
"Mrs. Eleanor owns the deed, sir," Martha whispered, wringing her hands together. "The title transfer was filed concurrently with the corporate buyout. I received a direct deposit this morning from an account bearing her name, along with specific instructions regarding your access to the premises."
Julian closed the distance between them, his voice dropping to a dangerous, low snarl. "Instructions? What kind of instructions? This is my home! I built my life here!"
Martha swallowed hard, her eyes wells with genuine pity. "You are permitted to stay in the guest wing on the third floor, Mr. Julian. However, your master suite, your home office, and your personal vehicles are now restricted assets under corporate seal. A court bailiff will arrive at noon to inventory your personal belongings."
Julian felt the floor drop out from under him. He stumbled back, his shoulder hitting the mahogany wainscoting. The sheer impossibility of the situation paralyzed his usually sharp mind. How had Eleanor managed this? For three years, she had played the role of the quiet, devoted housewife, attending charity events, arranging floral centerpieces, and enduring his cold neglect without a single complaint. He had treated her like furniture, a decorative accessory to project an image of domestic success to his business associates.
"She was just a penniless orphan when I married her," Julian muttered, shaking his head in denial. "She had nothing. No background, no family, no money."
"People often mistake kindness for weakness, Mr. Julian," Martha said softly, turning away to walk toward the back corridor. "Mrs. Eleanor left something for you on the console table by the door before she left last night. You were too angry to notice it."
Julian spun around. Resting on the polished mahogany table, right where the pink suitcase had stood, was a plain white envelope bearing his name in that same elegant handwriting. With trembling fingers, Julian picked it up, tore the flap open, and pulled out a single photograph and a handwritten note.
May you like
The photograph showed Julian and Eleanor on their wedding day, smiling for the cameras. But across Julian’s face, someone had drawn a heavy black X with a permanent marker.
He flipped the photo over and read the three handwritten words on the back.
