Chapter 3 - Eleanor Regains Her Composure With Venomous Fury
Eleanor slowly straightened her posture, brushing her brown hair neatly back into its immaculate high bun with trembling fingers.
Her arrogant, domineering mask slipped back over her features, replacing shock with a bitter, vindictive poison.
“You have lost your mind, Thomas,” Eleanor hissed, her voice vibrating with cold, patrician malice across the silent room.
“You dare lay your hands on your own mother for a disobedient child who cannot even serve guests properly?”
Thomas didn't flinch or look away; his posture remained rigid and defensive, shielding his weeping family behind him.
“That child is six years old, Mother, and you forced her to carry boiling soup on a wooden stool,” Thomas replied quietly.
“The only thing lost in this room tonight is your twisted illusion that you control everyone’s lives,” he added sharply.
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Eleanor’s lips curled into a sneer as she cast a venomous glance toward Sarah and little Lily shivering nearby.
“This family built its fortune on discipline and absolute obedience, not pathetic weakness,” the matriarch snapped back defiantly.
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