Chapter 2 - The Ice Queen of the Grand StaircaseEleanor descended as though the entire mansion belonged to her—and perhaps, in her mind, it did.
At fifty-five, she had spent decades surrounded by wealth, influence, politicians, lawyers, celebrities, and people who learned very quickly that crossing her came with consequences.
Her emerald velvet suit was flawless.
Her blonde hair was perfectly styled.
A crystal wineglass rested between her fingers.
She looked at Clara.
Then at Marcus.
Then at the broken glass.
“She broke it,” Eleanor said coldly.
Clara lowered her eyes.
“So she cleans it.”
Marcus remained silent.
Eleanor took another sip.
“I assume you are the new security consultant.”
Marcus said nothing.
Her eyes narrowed.
“Then state your business.”
Marcus studied her.
Not with fear.
Not with respect.
With calculation.
That irritated her more than an insult could have.
“You're standing in my house,” Eleanor said. “You have thirty seconds to explain yourself.”
Marcus finally looked at Clara.
“Stand up.”
Clara hesitated.
Eleanor's voice sharpened.
“She has work to finish.”
Marcus looked back at Eleanor.
“Not anymore.”
The room went silent.
Eleanor's expression hardened.
“You seem confused about your position.”
“No,” Marcus said quietly. “I know exactly where I stand.”
He reached toward his ear.
His fingers found a small black earpiece hidden beneath his hair.
Eleanor frowned.
Clara's heart began pounding.
Something about the man suddenly felt different.
Not like a security consultant.
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Not like a businessman.
Like someone who had walked into the house already knowing how the story would end.
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