Eleanor stood by the floor-to-ceiling window in her study, her gaze lingering on the dark sky above. The stars were scattered like spilled glitter, faint yet constant, whispering mories of a past she’d tried for so long to forget. In the distance, a plane passed silently overhead, blinking red and white across the heavens.
Her thoughts swirled like a storm cloud. "The assassination order wasn’t for Eleanor Raynor... but for Eleanor Whitmore," she murmured to herself.
That detail changed everything.
"It ans the order didn’t co from the business world... and definitely not from the supernatural circles either. If it had, the bounty would be in the millions... not a re hundred thousand dollars. No, this is personal. It has to be the Whitmore family."
She clenched her fists, brows furrowed in cold realization. "Willow White must have inford Jennifer about my return. And now... they’re desperate. Of course... they would be. The seven-year deadline is almost here. They can’t take any chances."
A wave of mories from her childhood hit her like a gust of winter wind... sharp, sudden, and unrelenting.
Her mother had passed away when she was barely six months old. The only thing she had left of her was a few faded photographs and the business empire she’d built from scratch. Eleanor’s mories before her bloodline awakening had been vague, but afterward, everything was vivid. Strangely, despite the ntal clarity, she still couldn’t recall a single mont spent with her mother. Her presence existed only in stories... and regrets.
After her mother’s death, Aunt Isabella had stepped in. A kind woman who claid to be a distant relative of her mother’s side. Eleanor had no mory of ever eting another mber of her maternal family. She does not even know the nas of her grandparents. Nothing. Her mother’s world had been erased... was it deliberate?
She rembered being eight when Jeanne, her "kind" stepmother, suddenly fired Aunt Isabella. Eleanor had cried for days. Jeanne had comforted her, winning her trust with a sweet voice and fake warmth. It wasn’t until now that Eleanor realized she had completely forgotten about Isabella.
Her face darkened.
She pulled out her phone and dialed Teresa. "I want you to find an old lady nad Isabella Thomas," she said, her tone low but urgent. "She must be in her early fifties by now. She was my nanny, looked after until I was eight. After she was fired, I heard she returned to her hotown... sowhere in Birmingham. She once told her house was near Edgbaston Stadium. Cross-reference the tiline. I want her location by tonight. I want to visit her tomorrow."
"Okay, Boss," Teresa replied.
Teresa ended the call and groaned... she’d just sat down to relax after a grueling day, but a paycheck that size made up for the sudden overti. She threw off her blanket and got to work.
anwhile, Eleanor paced across the room. "How stupid was I?" she whispered, shaking her head bitterly. "To think Jeanne was a gentle stepmother... and Jennifer, a loving older sister."
They had orchestrated her life like a play... every move, every emotion. Puppeteers in velvet gloves.
"How could a father participate in planning the rape of his own daughter? He even wanted dead." Her voice cracked, but she swallowed the lump in her throat. "Is he really my father?"
A chilling possibility erged. What if William Whitmore wasn’t her biological father at all?
"I need to find out the truth. I need a DNA test... as soon as possible."
Back when she first returned to the U.S., Eleanor had reached out to a few of her mother’s forr business partners. Through them, she’d pieced together fragnts of the truth.
Her mother, Esralda Langford, had suffered complications during childbirth and remained hospitalized until her death. At the ti, no one knew who Eleanor’s father was. William Whitmore had worked closely with her mother as a personal assistant and took over managing the company during her illness. After Esralda’s death, he suddenly produced a marriage certificate and claid Eleanor as his daughter.
On her deathbed, Esralda had gathered her partners and declared that all her assets would go to her daughter, Eleanor Langford. She added a clause stating none of the properties could be sold or transferred until Eleanor turned twenty. William beca Eleanor’s legal guardian and temporary custodian of all her mother’s assets... and, of course, the acting chairman of the company.
Just a few months later, he married Jeanne Baker.
And with that, Eleanor Langford beca the second daughter of the Whitmore family, second to Jennifer Whitmore, who was Jeanne’s daughter with William Whitmore before their marriage.
Everything suddenly clicked.
Jas Clifford’s mother was Phoebe Baker. She’d seen Phoebe and Jeanne together several tis, always speaking in familiar tones. Jas hadn’t co into her life by chance... he had a role to play, too.
She rembered how Jas had always co to her rescue in school, playing the hero. But when had the bullying begun?
It all started when soone spread a rumor that Eleanor’s mother was a mistress who broke apart the Whitmore family. That Esralda had seduced William and given birth to an illegitimate daughter. People had said the only good thing about her death was that she spared Jennifer more suffering.
And the worst part? Eleanor had believed it! Jennifer was her senior, kind and well-liked. Eleanor had resented her own mother, even hated herself for being "the mistress’s child."
And there was no one to tell her otherwise.
Only Jeanne and Jennifer were there... always supporting her. Always feeding her lies.
The rumors had begun right after Isabella was fired.
Of course. Jeanne had orchestrated the whole thing. Isabella might have told Eleanor the truth... that Esralda was William’s wife first. That she wasn’t the product of so illegitimate affair. That Jennifer was the outsider, not her.
Most of her school bullies had co from Jennifer’s class. It didn’t take much effort to guess who started the rumors.
Before the night she overheard them plotting her rape and murder, she had genuinely believed they were her family. Their performance had been so convincing that it could’ve won Oscars. If she hadn’t heard it herself, even a video recording wouldn’t have been enough to convince her.
Her stomach churned at the thought.
Eleanor sat in silence for a long while, staring at the polished surface of her desk. Finally, she picked up her phone and dialed a number from mory.
"Hello, Uncle. How’s your health?" she asked softly.
A voice ca through, aged but warm. "Ah, Eleanor. Still alive and kicking, my girl! It’s so good to hear your voice. How’ve you been?"
"I’m doing well. I’ve returned to the Kingdom. I want to see you. When would be a good ti?"
"You’re back?" he said, clearly surprised. "That’s wonderful news! Your aunt hasn’t been doing well recently. I think it would do her good to see you. Co over anyti."
"Alright. Just don’t tell her I’m coming. Don’t tell anyone. There might be spies eyeing you." Eleanor smiled gently. "I’ll be there in about an hour."
"Got it. I’ll be waiting."
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