The morning sun in Eleanor Doren's penthouse glared. It bounced off the minimalist white marble floors and the floor-to-ceiling glass windows that overlooked the sprawling skyline of Vancouver, a city that Dermin now partially owned. But inside the pristine, scent-dampened air of the living room, the atmosphere was thick with a toxic mix of indignation and wounded pride.
Eleanor sat in a velvet armchair that looked more like a throne, her spine as straight as a razor blade. Across from her, Bianca Vane sipped from a cup of espresso, her emerald silk robe replaced by a sharp, cream-colored power suit. Bianca's eyes were narrowed, her mind clearly replaying the humiliation of being dismissed by Dermin in favor of a woman who smelled of rain and prison.
"He was always stubborn," Eleanor began, her voice a low, melodic rasp that carried the weight of decades of social climbing. "But this... this is a madness I did not foresee. To bring her back into his life like she's some guest from a distant country? To give her his name? It is a spit in the face of everything we have built since we left the mud behind."
"He called her his wife, Eleanor," Bianca said, her voice like splintering ice. "He looked me in the eye and chose a felon over a future that makes sense. How do we fix this? My father is already asking questions about our union and when he shall be invited to the wedding."
Eleanor set her porcelain cup down with a sharp clack against the saucer. "You let me worry about the 'fix,' Bianca. I have not spent thirty years scrubbing the scent of the streets off my skin to let Hannah McKay drag us back down into the gutter. I will not allow it. She will never be my daughter-in-law. Not in any way that matters. That will be a shame on the family, she's an ex convict."
Eleanor stood up and walked to the window, staring out at the city. Her expression softened for a fleeting second, a shadow of a memory crossing her face.
"You didn't know her then," Eleanor whispered, almost to herself. "Ten years ago... before everything went wrong. She was a good girl. She was the only light in Dermin's world when we had nothing but a two-room apartment and hope. When Dermin was just a boy with a backpack and a dream, struggling through university while working night shifts at the docks... Hannah was there. She'd bring him containers of soup. She'd sit with him under those dim streetlights while he studied. She had been the only person that Dermin trusted the most in his world."
Eleanor closed her eyes, her hand tightening on the fabric of her sleeve. "I loved her once, Bianca. I truly did. Her mother, Mary... she was my only real friend in those days. We used to sit on the fire escape and talk about the day our children would marry. I envisioned it. I saw them as the golden couple of a new era. I thought she was the anchor that would keep my son steady."
"And then?" Bianca prompted, her voice devoid of empathy.
"And then she broke my heart," Eleanor snapped, her eyes flying open, now cold and unforgiving. "She was caught red-handed. The drugs, the body in the room... the filth of that lifestyle. It wasn't just a mistake; it was a betrayal of everything I thought she was. She showed us her true colors that night. She wasn't a girl; she was a liability. A criminal. Talk about a wolf in sheep's clothing."
She turned back to Bianca, her face hardening into a mask of pure, aristocratic disdain. "I stood by her mother's grave six years ago, and I whispered a silent apology to Mary. I told her I was sorry she died with a daughter in a cage, but I also told her that I would never let that cage be opened near my son again. I will not have an ex-convict sitting at my dinner table. I will not have the Doren legacy built on the womb of a woman who knows the inside of a cell better than the inside of a ballroom. I knew I was breaking my promise to her, a promise that I had made to her about ensuring her daughter is safe."
Eleanor walked over to Bianca, placing a cold, manicured hand on the younger woman's shoulder. "Dermin thinks he is protecting her. He thinks he is being a hero. But heroes eventually tire of the weight they carry. Hannah McKay is a stain, and stains are meant to be bleached away."
"What are you going to do?" Bianca asked, a slow, predatory smile returning to her face.
"I'm going to remind her of exactly who she is," Eleanor said, her voice dropping to a lethal, quiet register. "I'm going to show her that a marriage certificate is just a piece of paper, but the world's disgust is a permanent brand. She thinks she's home? I'm going to make that mansion feel smaller than the cell she just left. And as for my son... I will remind him that a king does not marry a thief unless he wants his crown stolen."
Eleanor looked up at the ceiling, as if she could see through the miles of concrete to the girl hiding in the master suite. "Sleep well while you can, Hannah," she whispered. "Because the Doren family doesn't forgive, and we certainly don't forget. I think I'm wasting alot of time here doing a lot of talking than action. Dermin is at work, she's probably alone, I should go and see her. I hope she isn't gotten violent from the ten years she has spent with criminals like her. May the Lord protect me from her."
The two women sat in the silence of the penthouse, the sun climbing higher, casting long, sharp shadows that looked like bars across the floor.