Chapter 2
The music seemed to fade away entirely,
leaving only the sound of his own racing heartbeat in his ears.
Julian stared at the woman in the crimson gown,
unable to process the reality of her sudden arrival.
Eleanor was supposed to be resting at their estate,
ordered by her doctors to avoid any stressful environments,
due to the delicate nature of her third trimester.
Yet here she stood,
radiant and terrifying,
commanding the attention of every single person in the massive ballroom.
The red silk of her dress draped perfectly over her pregnant belly,
making her look like an ancient goddess of war,
descending upon mortals who had dared to cross her.
Isabella shifted uncomfortably beside him,
her carefully rehearsed smile completely vanishing from her flawless face,
replaced by a pale mask of genuine panic.
Julian lowered his champagne flute,
his hand trembling so violently that a few drops of the expensive liquid spilled onto his tuxedo,
staining the dark fabric.
The crowd began to part like the Red Sea,
stepping aside to clear a direct path for Eleanor,
their murmurs of confusion echoing through the cavernous space.
She walked with a slow,
deliberate grace,
her heels clicking rhythmically against the polished marble floor.
Every camera in the room turned toward her,
capturing the fierce determination burning in her dark eyes,
and the cold,
unforgiving set of her jaw.
Julian tried to swallow the lump forming in his throat,
but his mouth was completely dry.
He knew instantly that she had discovered his secret,
because Eleanor never made a public spectacle,
unless she had already won the war behind closed doors.
She reached the edge of the stage,
looking up at him with a gaze that could freeze boiling water,
and extended one elegant hand toward the stairs.
The security guards did not dare to stop her,
knowing exactly who held the true power in the company,
and they simply bowed their heads as she ascended the steps.
Isabella took a hesitant step backward,
trying to hide behind the large podium,
but there was absolutely nowhere to run.
Eleanor stopped right in front of Julian,
close enough for him to smell her signature perfume,
a scent of jasmine and sharp citrus that suddenly made him feel entirely sick.
She did not scream,
and she did not cry.
She simply reached out,
placing her cold fingers over the microphone in his hand,
and gently pulled it away from his desperate grip.
Julian let it go,
feeling as though he was surrendering his entire empire,
because in that moment,
he absolutely was.
The silence in the room was deafening,
as a thousand powerful guests held their breath,
waiting to see what the legendary Eleanor Aaron would do next.
She tapped the microphone once,
May you like
the sharp sound echoing through the grand speakers,
and she smiled a smile that lacked any warmth or mercy.
