Chapter 1
Eleanor did not let go of the boy’s hand.
Her fingers closed around his small, dirt-smudged knuckles.
For the first time in thirty years, she did not care who was watching.
The silence in the parlor shattered as heavy footsteps approached from the back of the room.
It was Arthur.
Her father. The patriarch.
The man who had ordered the boy’s mother chased out of the city like a stray dog.
Arthur’s face was a mask of cold, controlled fury. He looked at the boy, then at the gold watch resting in his small palms.
“Eleanor,” Arthur said, his voice low enough to avoid a scene, but sharp enough to draw blood. “Get that street rat out of here. And take back my father’s watch. Now.”
The surrounding guests pretended not to listen, though every eye was fixed on them.
Eleanor looked at her father.
The man she had feared her entire life.
The man for whom she had sacrificed her own happiness to maintain the flawless family image.
Then, she looked at the boy. He wasn't crying. He was staring back at Arthur with an unnatural, terrifying calm.
“No,” Eleanor whispered.
Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”
“His name is Leo,” Eleanor said, her voice rising, echoing against the vaulted ceiling. “He is Thomas’s son. And he stays.”
Murmurs erupted like wildfire through the crowd.
Arthur stepped forward, raising his hand to physically rip the watch from the boy.
But before his fingers could graze the gold, the heavy mahogany doors of the parlor swung violently open.
A man in a tailored charcoal suit stepped inside, carrying a thick leather briefcase.
It was Mr. Vance. The family’s chief legal counsel.
And he looked terrified.
“Stop the service,” Vance announced, breathing heavily. “Arthur, do not touch that child.”
Arthur turned, his face purple with rage. “Have you lost your mind, Vance? This is a private funeral.”
“Not anymore,” Vance replied, holding up a sealed, black envelope. “Thomas filed a new will three weeks ago. And if you touch that boy, the police waiting outside have strict orders to arrest you.”
The word arrest hung in the air, paralyzing the room.
Arthur lowered his hand slowly, his jaw clenched tight. "What are you talking about, Vance? My son’s will was finalized ten years ago. Everything goes back to the estate."
"Thomas circumvented the estate," Vance said, walking down the center aisle. He didn't look at Arthur. He looked directly at Eleanor and the boy.
He stopped in front of them and broke the wax seal on the black envelope.
"Three weeks ago, Thomas liquidated his entire personal portfolio," Vance read aloud. "Every share of the company he owned. Every offshore account. Every property. He placed it all into an irrevocable trust."
Arthur scoffed. "A trust for whom?"
Vance looked down at the boy.
"For Leo. He holds the controlling interest of this family's empire now."
A collective gasp echoed through the mourners.
Arthur’s face drained of color. He took a step back, staring at the small, ragged child holding the gold watch.
The boy, barely eight years old, was now the wealthiest person in the room.
"There is a condition," Vance added quickly, looking at Eleanor.
"Of course there is," Arthur sneered. "The boy is a minor. He can't claim it. I am the executor of the estate. I will take custody—"
"No, Arthur, you will not," Vance interrupted, his voice trembling slightly. "The trust stipulates that Leo’s legal and physical guardian must be Eleanor. If anything happens to Eleanor, or if custody is transferred to anyone else, the entire fortune is immediately donated to charity."
Eleanor’s heart stopped.
Thomas had trapped her.
He had forced her to finally choose between her tyrannical father and the family she had helped destroy.
Arthur turned his cold, venomous gaze toward his daughter. "You planned this. You conspired with him."
"I didn't know," Eleanor whispered, stepping in front of Leo protectively.
"It doesn't matter," Arthur hissed, stepping terrifyingly close to her. "You won't survive the week as his guardian, Eleanor. You know exactly what happens to threats against this family."
Leo suddenly tugged on Eleanor’s black sleeve.
"Auntie?" the boy whispered.
Eleanor looked down.
May you like
Leo was holding out a small, folded piece of paper. The edges were stained with dried blood.
"My dad said to give you this when the bad man got angry," Leo said.
