All Eleanor had to do now was wait for Sarah Hoffman and Daniel Green to come back with something concrete.
She returned to the penthouse and went straight to the nursery.
Soft light washed the pale-pink walls. Hand-painted clouds and birds drifted across the mural above two white cribs. Tiny gold stars along the border gave off a warm, faint glow as she crossed the room. The bedding—organic cotton stitched with unicorns and rainbows—was pulled taut and untouched, still holding the clean, herbal bite of lavender detergent.
A velvet rocking chair sat in the corner, a mountain of stuffed animals stacked neatly beside it. In the closet, rows of tiny outfits hung in perfect lines—each one something she'd chosen back when she still believed in the dream.
She'd already hired a small army to keep the gears turning: two live-in newborn care specialists, a postpartum doula, and a private chef who specialized in recovery nutrition. They were on standby, waiting for "the mother" to come home.
Two quiet days passed.
Then it was time to bring Eric home.
Stepping back into the familiar rooms, Eric offered a weary smile that didn't reach his eyes. The penthouse looked exactly as it always had. It smelled of expensive candles and fresh polish. But to him it was no longer a home.
It was a high-end cage.
Life attempted to resume some version of normal—except the person keeping the world in motion wasn't Eric anymore.
"Eric" started coming home earlier. No more nights that vanished. Now she and Eric only crossed paths for a few minutes at a time. Eric spent most of his days in bed, recovering—noticeably quieter after the gauntlet he'd been dragged through. He'd stopped picking fights. He'd stopped begging for miracles.
Eleanor didn't waste the silence.
She lived in the study, cramming two years' worth of corporate history into her head—contracts, internal reports, legal briefs, financial primers. She wasn't just reading. She was assembling a weapon.
Tonight, her focus was the Veridia City Harbor Redevelopment: a multi-billion-dollar waterfront overhaul wrapped in glossy PR—tourism, commerce, ecology, "future living."
For Aethel Corp, it wasn't just a win. It was the crown jewel. The deal that would define the company for the next decade.
She traced funding routes and subcontractor tiers line by line, hunting for a fault.
On the desk, her encrypted phone—the one reserved for the legal and investigative team—buzzed.
Daniel.
She answered on the first ring.
"Eric," Daniel's voice came through clipped and heavy. "Those overseas accounts you flagged—we're seeing multiple login attempts from unregistered devices. Transfer requests and alert pings are hitting the dashboard right now. Is that you?"
Eleanor's stomach dropped. Cold slid down her spine like a blade.
"No," she said, voice flattening into steel.
Of course it wasn't her. Eric was still fighting. Still trying to move pieces from inside the body he'd lost. Eleanor stared at the dark window as if she could see him doing it—hands shaking, teeth clenched, panic sweating through her skin.
"Change every password," she ordered. "Now. Get the banks on the line. Freeze every pending transfer and flag them all as fraudulent."
"We're already on it. Transfers are in a holding pattern," Daniel said, steady, methodical. "We're tracing the IPs as we speak."
A small, cold smile tugged at Eleanor's mouth. "I know exactly who it is."
And if the trail led where she expected, it wouldn't just be evidence.
It would be a smoking gun.
"Keep digging," she said. "I want an ironclad paper trail."
"Understood. We're moving to emergency response—highest-level alerts on all accounts. The second a pixel moves, you'll be the first to know."
Eleanor ended the call and set the phone down with deliberate care.
—
Minutes later, the company's internal secure line lit up.
Jake Parker. The CFO.
A call at this hour was never good news.
She picked up, voice perfectly level. "Jake."
A pause, pregnant and uneasy. When Jake finally spoke, he sounded guarded, as if he were weighing every syllable before letting it escape.
"Eric… how are things going with Eleanor? You know. At home."
Eleanor's brow tightened. Since when did Jake Parker give a damn about her marriage?
"Get to the point, Jake."
"She called me," he blurted, words tripping over each other. "She said some… incredibly strange things."
Eleanor didn't flinch. She didn't give him a crack to crawl into. "Define strange."
Jake's voice dropped an octave, the sound of a man checking his surroundings. "She claimed she's the real Eric. And then she started bringing up things… things only you and I would know."
A jolt of alarm cut through Eleanor—sharp, immediate—but she kept her tone bored, almost lazy.
"Like what?"
His answer rushed out—then slowed as shame caught up to him.
"Vegas. Right after graduation. That club. Those… trans women. And your bachelor party—the Russian twins—"
Eleanor went perfectly still.
Not because she cared about Jake's discomfort. Because she'd never known.
She'd been married to a man who kept an entire second life behind a locked door she wasn't allowed to touch. Now, wearing his face, she had to listen to his filth spill out of someone else's mouth.
She let the silence stretch until she could practically hear Jake sweating on the other end.
"There's more," she said softly. "Isn't there?"
Jake made a strangled sound—half gasp, half choke. "You—you told her? You actually told her all that?"
Eleanor looked out at the city lights glittering beyond the glass. Lies stacked on lies, a tower built on air.
"Sure," she said, calm as ice. "Married people don't keep secrets, Jake. You know that."
Then she shifted gears—smooth, practiced, predatory.
"Look, she just gave birth. Her hormones are all over the place. She's not herself." A beat, carefully placed. "I shouldn't have brought up anything that could… trigger her."
Relief flooded Jake's voice. He lunged for the excuse like a drowning man grabbing a rope.
"Right. God. Of course," he said quickly. "I'm such an idiot. I never should've engaged with her about any of that."
"Just don't provoke her," Eleanor said—soft enough to sound kind, sharp enough to slice. "Eleanor needs professional treatment. And more importantly, she needs rest."
"I get it. Totally," Jake rushed. "I'm sorry."
Eleanor hung up.
She leaned back in the leather executive chair, jaw locked, sapphire-blue eyes blazing.
Eric wasn't just trying to drain the accounts. He was trying to sabotage her from the inside out.
But he'd forgotten the only thing that mattered.
She was Eric now.
In this world, his word was nothing and hers was law. If he kept pushing, she wouldn't just win the divorce—she'd have him evaluated, labeled unfit, and locked away.
And the secrets he'd leaked to Jake? Those weren't leverage.
They were more nails.
The war was still quiet, but it had bled into everything—bodies, bank accounts, and whatever shattered remains of trust were left.
—
Eleanor's mind raced.
If Eric was attempting overseas transfers, he was desperate.
If he was calling Jake, he was looking for a back door into the company.
The lawyers and investigators were watching the perimeter, but it wasn't enough. She needed someone inside the penthouse—someone who would watch his every move, meddle in his life, and enjoy every second of it.
Only one person fit.
Linda.
Eleanor dialed.
"Mom," she said the second Linda answered. "It's me. It's Eric."
Linda sounded startled. "Eric? What's going on?"
Eleanor let her breath hitch, just enough to sell exhaustion. "I'm worried about Eleanor."
On the other end, Linda's attention sharpened instantly.
"You were right," Eleanor said, layering her voice with performative regret. "Her mental state isn't stable. When you suggested bringing in a psychiatrist at the hospital, I shouldn't have pushed back. The truth is… I've been noticing some disturbing things."
A pause. She let it swell.
"It looks like she's thinking about divorce," Eleanor said. "And she's already been trying to gain access to my offshore accounts."
Total silence. Then a sharp inhale—ragged and hungry.
"You know I've been structuring assets overseas for years," Eleanor continued, keeping it vague, corporate. "She never breathed a word about them before. Now she's interfering. If she's planning to walk away, she might be trying to drain everything before the papers are even served."
She didn't need to finish.
Linda cared about Eric's money—especially the liquid assets tucked away from trusts and agreements—more than anything on earth. Sayoffshore accountsandasset transfersand she'd be at the door in ten minutes.
On the line, Linda's shock curdled into outrage. "Divorce? Transferring your money? Who the hell does she think she is?"
"I don't know, Mom," Eleanor said, pitching her tone into the perfect blend of helpless and overworked. "She found out about Sophia and now she's talking crazy. She won't listen to reason. I'm trying to run this company and I just—" a small, controlled break in her voice "—I can't manage her on my own."
Then she set the hook.
"Could you come stay for a while?" Eleanor asked, sounding frayed. "I need you here to help me keep an eye on her. Maybe you can talk some sense into her."
Linda snorted. Pure derision. "She found out? So what? She can't even give you a son and now she thinks she has the right to dictate your life?"
Her voice turned to steel. "Stop protecting her, Eric. I'm coming over. Right now. I want to see exactly what kind of game she thinks she's playing."
An hour later, Linda was at the building entrance.
Eleanor had already cleared her with the front desk and security, ensuring she had unrestricted access to the private elevator.
Linda surged into the penthouse, radiating a fury that seemed to heat the air.
Even though Eleanor had invited her, Linda didn't wait for a greeting or a welcome. She entered like a storm, barking at the driver to take her bags to the guest suite as if her name was already on the deed.
She stormed through the entryway, practically vibrating with the need for a fight.
"Eric!" she called, eyes scanning the living room like a predator. "Where is she? Where is that woman?"
Eleanor met her with a mask of exhausted relief. "Thank God you're here, Mom. She's in the bedroom resting, but… she's still not in her right mind."
She gestured toward the kitchen, the overwhelmed-husband routine clean and practiced. "Sit down. I'll have Jasper bring you soda water."
Linda didn't sit. Her gaze stayed fixed on the closed door of the primary suite.
With Linda in the building, the penthouse felt smaller—tighter, air thinning as if the walls had moved in.
Eleanor watched her mother-in-law from the shadows, grim satisfaction settling in her chest.
With Linda on the warpath, Eric could forget about making any more moves.
He wasn't just trapped in a body.
He was trapped in a fortress.
---------- 💬 Author's Note ----------
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