Chapter 2
The glowing smartphone screen in Arthur’s hand displayed a string of corrupted characters that pulsed once before fading into darkness. He slipped the device into his trousers pocket without looking up, his gaze locking onto Eleanor. The matriarch finally tilted her chin upward, her thin lips parting to speak with the calm, chilling authority that had dominated the Vance household for half a century. She remarked that a man should know how to control his wife rather than throwing childish tantrums over domestic traditions. Clara flinched slightly at the insult, her fingers tightening against the fabric of her beige dress. Arthur took a deliberate step forward, the sound of his leather shoes crunching against broken glass echoing loudly in the cavernous room. He told Eleanor that those archaic traditions died tonight along with her precious dining table. The four women in dark dresses exchanged nervous glances, whispering among themselves about scandal and family reputation. Arthur ignored them, focusing entirely on helping Clara to her feet. He offered his hand with profound gentleness, his anger instantly transforming into protective tenderness as he supported her weight. Clara accepted his hand, wincing as her bruised knee took her weight. She whispered that they needed to leave immediately, sensing that this confrontation was only the beginning of a much darker storm. Eleanor clicked her tongue in disapproval, declaring that Clara brought nothing to the family name and deserved no better than the floor she had been ordered to clean. Arthur turned back to face the elderly woman, his voice dropping to a low, menacing register that demanded absolute silence. He reminded Eleanor that the Vance fortune, which she guarded so fiercely, had been sustained by the very patents her late husband stole from Clara’s father twenty years ago. The color drained instantly from Eleanor’s wrinkled face, proving that Arthur’s accusation had struck a raw, exposed nerve. The four standing women gasped in genuine shock, realizing the pristine facade of their legacy was built on stolen ground. Arthur wrapped a protective arm around Clara’s waist, guiding her slowly toward the grand double doors of the dining room. As they crossed the threshold, Eleanor’s trembling voice commanded them to halt, but Arthur did not even bother to look back as he pushed the doors open.
