Just as Eleanor reached down to grab the glass again to force the remainder of the liquid into Clara’s mouth, a loud, heavy thud resounded through the mansion foyer. The grand double oak doors at the end of the hallway swung wide open with immense force, breaking the suffocating silence of the estate. Stepping across the threshold was Julian Vance, the tall, distinguished heir of the family estate, dressed in an immaculate grey business suit and carrying a leather briefcase. His sharp, handsome features carried a stern, authoritative expression as he returned early from an emergency board meeting.
Julian froze in his tracks the instant his polished leather shoes stepped over the scattered white papers littering the marble floor. His eyes swept the chaotic scene in absolute shock—taking in the weeping maid on the floor, the overturned glass, and his terrified pregnant wife trapped in a wheelchair with stains dripping down her face. A cold, lethal fury instantly washed over his face, replacing his calm professional demeanor with unbridled rage. He dropped his heavy briefcase onto the floor with a loud thud, his long strides cutting through the hallway as he charged directly toward the scene of the attack.
"Mother... Mother!" Julian’s deep voice boomed across the marble hall like a thunderclap, vibrating with an intensity that made the stone walls echo. The sheer authority in his tone caused Eleanor’s hands to freeze mid-air. Her face completely drained of color as she slowly turned her head around to face her son, the icy confidence she had displayed moments ago vanishing into pure panic as she realized her dark deed had been caught red-handed.