Chapter 6 - The Queen’s Fall
The video call screen flickered, and Eleanor’s distorted, tear-streaked face filled the display. Behind her, the opulent, marble-pillared foyer of the Miller family estate looked chaotic and unkempt, with several moving boxes stacked haphazardly near the front door.
“Vivienne!” Eleanor shrieked the moment the connection stabilized, her voice cracking with hysteria. Gone was the icy, condescending dowager who had mocked my clothes and ripped my dress. In her place was a broken, panicked woman clutching at her pearls like a drowning sailor grabbing driftwood. “Vivienne, you have to help us! Please! You have to call your father!”
I remained seated calmly on the white leather sofa, holding my warm cup of herbal tea with both hands. I didn't say a word. I simply looked at her through the screen, letting the heavy, suffocating silence stretch between us.
“Do you hear me?” Eleanor sobbed, pressing her face closer to her phone camera. “The banks... they’ve frozen all our accounts! They’re seizing the house! The country club just threw us out like common trash, and Daniel... Daniel is sitting in his study staring at the wall like a dead man! Whatever sick joke you’re playing, whatever lies you told your family about us... stop it! Call them off!”
“A joke, Eleanor?” I finally spoke, my voice soft, level, and utterly devoid of emotion. “Is that what you call public humiliation? Is that what you call having your mother-in-law tear your dress off your body at eight months pregnant while your husband hands over your purse to be ransacked?”
Eleanor flinched as if she had been slapped. Her lips trembled. “We... we didn't know! If we had known who your family was—if you had just told us—!”
“If I had told you my family was wealthy, you would have treated me with respect?” I finished her sentence, a cold, humorless smile touching my lips. “Thank you for proving my point once again. You didn't care about my character, my heart, or the fact that I was carrying your grandchild. You only cared about a name and a bank balance. Well, you got what you wanted. You measured people by their status, and now you’re learning what happens when someone higher up the food chain decides your status is zero.”
“Vivienne, please!” Eleanor wailed, sinking to her knees right there in the foyer, her expensive designer blouse crumpling against the marble floor. “I’m begging you! I’m an old woman! We’ll lose everything! I’ll apologize! I’ll get on my knees in public and beg for your forgiveness! Just... please have mercy!”
I took a slow sip of my tea, feeling the warmth soothe my throat. Mercy. It was a funny word coming from a woman who had spent three years treating me like an insect.
“Mercy is something you ask for when you’ve made a mistake, Eleanor,” I said quietly. “Cruelty is what you practiced every single day under your roof. You made your bed. Now lie in it.”
Before she could scream another plea, I swiped the screen and hung up, cutting the feed instantly. The phone went dark.
Marcus Vance, who had been quietly observing the exchange from across the coffee table, gave a respectful nod. “A textbook execution, Lady Vivienne. Cold, precise, and entirely justified.”
“How is Daniel handling the fallout?” I asked, setting my teacup down.
“Not well,” Marcus replied, opening a digital tablet to a fresh report. “His personal credit cards have all been declined. His sports car was repossessed from the driveway three hours ago. And as for the divorce proceedings...” Marcus paused, looking up at me with sharp, professional focus. “Our legal team has prepared the draft papers. Under the circumstances—including documented public humiliation, emotional distress, and lack of spousal support—we can secure a fast-track annulment and full custody protections before the baby arrives.”
I placed my hand gently over my swollen belly. “File them, Marcus. I want him served by the end of the day.”
“Understood. I’ll instruct local counsel to deliver the papers personally to the Miller residence within two hours.” Marcus stood up, buttoning his suit jacket and picking up his briefcase. “Is there anything else you require, Lady Vivienne?”
“Just one thing, Marcus,” I said, looking out the glass window toward the river. “Make sure Chloe finds her diamond ring.”
Marcus blinked, a rare flicker of surprise crossing his disciplined features. “Pardon me?”
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“The five-carat diamond ring she claimed was stolen,” I said calmly, a small, knowing smile playing on my lips. “Check the bottom of the champagne fountain in the ballroom storage room. People tend to drop things when they’re faking a crisis.”
A slow, appreciative grin spread across Marcus’s face. “Consider it found, Lady Vivienne.”
