BETTY

“Suspect?” I blurt under my breath, my voice barely audible above the sound of my heartbeat.

Eleanor shoots me a look sharp enough to draw blood, then motions to one of the maids. “Take Grace to the other room,” she barks.

The maid hesitates for a split second before obeying.

“Mommy?” Grace’s small voice trembles, and my chest tightens.

“It’s okay, love,” I whisper, forcing a smile I don’t feel, motioning for her to follow, as her little hand slips from mine.

Once she’s out of sight, I turn back to Eleanor, confusion gnawing at my stomach. “What is going on, Eleanor?”

She descends the last five steps of the grand staircase with a grace that only money and malice can teach, her heels clicking against the floor like a warning.

“You dare ask me that?” she sneers. “You think I wouldn’t find out? Where is it?”

“Where is what?” My voice quivers, crossing my hands over my chest.

“The brooch,” she snaps.

I blink, utterly lost. “What brooch?”

Her steps quicken, and she reaches me, the scent of her expensive perfume filling the space between us as her hand shoots out, seizing my wrist.

The pain is immediate and searing.

“The one you stole,” she hisses, her grip tightening.

“I haven’t stolen anything from you! I’m not a thief.” The words tumble out of me in a panic, but they sound small and fragile, like they already know they won’t be believed.

Eleanor’s eyes gleam, triumphant and cruel. “Don’t lie to me. You sold it, didn’t you? To pay for your mother’s latest relapse? This is how you repay us after six years of our generosity? By stealing from us?”

Her nails dig deeper into my skin, and I wince, fighting to free myself, but she only tightens her hold.

“Please…you’re hurting me. I didn’t take anything.”

“I don’t believe you,” she spits. “We’ll see what your room says about that.” She turns her glare to the maid hovering by the wall. “What are you waiting for? Go turn that room upside down!”

But before anyone moves, the heavy front door swings open and the sound of his footsteps steals the air from the room.

Nathaniel stands framed by the doorway, black suit, crisp tie, briefcase in hand.

His presence fills the space like a shadow stretching across the floor, and Eleanor releases me just enough for me to straighten, my wrist throbbing under the sleeve of my coat.

“What’s going on here?” His deep voice ripples through the silence, cool and commanding.

“She stole from me,” Eleanor answers quickly, too quickly. “My mother’s brooch—the one I told you about, remember?.”

Nathaniel’s jaw tightens, his gaze shifting to me, looking handsome and perfect as always.

“How could you do this?” he asks, each word measured and lethal. “How could you steal from us?”

My eyes squint at him, and my mouth goes dry. “You think I did this?”

He closes the distance between us, his hand wrapping around my other arm, not violently, but firmly enough that I can feel the judgment in his touch. “Why wouldn’t I? You are the only person in this house desperate enough to do it.”

The words slice deep, and right through the fragile parts, I bleed in places no one can see.

Tears threaten to blur my vision as I look up at him, but I blink quickly, pushing them back. “I didn’t do this, Nathaniel. I was at my mother’s funeral the whole day. You know that.”

For a small moment, I see a flicker of something human in his eyes, but it vanishes as quickly as it came.

He yanks my hand aside and steps back, smoothing his tie as though I’ve dirtied him just by standing near. “You always have excuses, Betty, and also, are you insinuating that my mother is lying?”

The humiliation burns hotter than the tears threatening to fall, and my lips part to respond, but then a steady, commanding voice echoes down from the staircase. “What is with all the shouting?”

We all turn, and Harriette Blackwell is standing at the top of the stairs, wrapped in pearls and diamonds, her silver hair pulled into a perfect twist.

Her posture is straight, her expression calm, but her presence commands immediate silence.

Eleanor’s tone softens instantly. “Mother, I was only…”

Harriette lifts a hand, her way of silencing her. “I asked what’s going on.” Her eyes, sharp and clear, shift to me.

“It’s Betty,” Eleanor starts again, her voice dripping venom. “She stole from me.”

Harriette’s gaze returns to her daughter-in-law, her lips thinning. “And you know this for certain?”

Eleanor hesitates, and before she can double down on her accusation, Harriette’s steps echo through the hall as she descends. “Is this true, Nathaniel? Has your wife stolen from your mother?”

Nathaniel clears his throat, and his hand pauses mid-adjustment on his cufflinks, fingers tightening just once before he forces them to move again.

His shoulders draw back, an instinctive attempt at gathering himself, but the tension in his jaw betrays him. He never looks small, never looks unsure… except in front of her.

“I… just walked in, Grandmother,” he finally answers, his words careful, measured, like he’s choosing the safest path through a minefield. “I found them arguing, and…”

She cuts him off with a simple shake of her head. “So you just walked in and decided to side against your wife without proof?” she asks, disappointment laced in her voice. “Is that what I taught you, Nathaniel? To throw accusations at people without being certain?”

A faint flush creeps up Nathaniel’s neck, and I know this look. It’s the look of a man being scolded by the only person he fears.

“I’m sorry, Grandmother,” he mutters before he turns, his eyes meeting mine briefly, cold and unreadable. “I’ll go say hello to Grace.” He kisses Harriette’s cheek, then looks back at me. “We’ll talk later.”

His words sound like a threat, not a promise, and he walks away, leaving the scent of expensive cologne and resentment in his wake.

Harriette turns to Eleanor, her expression hardening. “And you,” she says, “I have no words for you.”

Eleanor’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out. For once, she’s speechless.

Harriette’s gaze then softens as she looks at me. “Come, my dear,” she says, stretching out her hand. “Walk with me to the rose garden and tell me about the funeral.”

Warmth blooms in my chest where moments ago there was only pain, and I take her hand, the trembling in mine easing under her gentle touch.

We walk away, and I can feel Eleanor’s glare burning holes in my back, but I don’t care. Her plan to humiliate me, and remind me I don’t belong here, has failed.

The rose garden stretches ahead once we step out, perfectly manicured, rows of blush and ivory petals swaying gently under the afternoon breeze.

Harriette slows her steps, her hand still holding mine, her thumb tracing small circles over my skin.

“How many times must I tell you, my dear? You need to stand up for yourself,” she says softly, her tone more weary than scolding.

I manage a faint smile. “I’m fine. I’m just glad you stepped in when you did.”

She sighs, rubbing my arm gently, her eyes searching mine. “You know I won’t always be around to protect you, Betty.”

I look at her, the only person who has been kind to me in this house, and the words spill out before I can stop them. “Then let me leave with Grace, Harriette. I won’t ask for anything else…please.”

Her steps falter, and I see a shift in her expression, the soft affection hardening into something cold and practiced.

“I’ve told you before,” her voice becomes firm, “that is not an option for you, Betty. The Blackwell name cannot be associated with such failures. I’ve made that clear.”

She turns, her pearl earrings glinting as she resumes her pace down the gravel path, leading me deeper into the garden.

I follow silently, the ache in my chest heavier than before.

I love this woman. I truly do. She has never been cruel to me, not once. She took me in as family when no one else wanted me, and treated me with kindness I’ll never forget.

And most importantly, she adores Grace, spoils her even. But Harriette Blackwell lives by one unshakable truth: perception is everything.

To her, the Blackwell legacy is a fortress built on appearances, and I am just another stone meant to keep it standing. Divorce, scandal, imperfection…those things are for people who can afford to be human.

So when she tells me it’s not an option, what she really means is: I will live in this cage forever.

BETTY

After spending hours in Harriette’s rose garden, letting the quiet settle into the cracks of my chest, I finally force myself to head inside.

Harriette left earlier, and her soft warning still echoes in my ears, so I stayed behind, pretending the roses could hold me together a little longer.

I walk back into the manor slowly, and I find the hallways empty, the lights around the house dim, meaning everyone must have retired by now.

I go up the stairs, taking my time, each step heavier than the last, and make my way to Grace’s room, my hand hesitating for a breath before I push the door open.

I freeze when I find Nathaniel sitting on the edge of her bed, sleeves rolled up, a storybook open in his hands.

His head is tilted toward her, and I watch as he softly tucks a curl behind her ear and places a gentle kiss on her forehead before whispering, “I love you, baby girl.”

Grace smiles in her sleep, and something in my heart cracks open, making me let go of the doorknob, but it creaks loudly enough to announce my presence.

His head jerks up, and the warmth disappears from his face instantly, replaced by the cold, distant expression he reserves only for me.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, rising to his full height, placing the book neatly on her bedside table like nothing just happened.

“I wanted to kiss her goodnight,” I respond softly.

He doesn’t even give me a second look. He walks to me and reaches for my wrist, fingers firm, pulling me out into the hallway before shutting the door behind us.

“She’s asleep,” he barks, voice sharp. “Also, how dare you take her with you today without my permission?”

I try to yank my hand away, but he is too strong for me. “I wanted her there with me,” I blurt, “Is that so wrong?”

His jaw flexes, and his eyes harden before releasing my hand.

“You don’t take her anywhere without telling me. I can’t have you dragging her to…”

“To where I grew up?” I interrupt, feeling just a little fed up with his attitude. “To my neighborhood?”

His lip curls just slightly, and I watch as his hands form fists at his sides. “Yes. To that dump.”

I swallow, forcing my voice to stay steady. “But she’s my daughter too, Nathaniel… just as much as she is yours.”

He laughs, the sound not coming out as joy but contempt. “I don’t care, Betty. Her last name is Blackwell and not Cooper. So like I said, don’t ever take her anywhere without telling me.”

He turns, already walking away, but something in me cracks open, and a low voice comes out before I can stop it. “Why didn’t you come to the cemetery today?” I sigh, blinking slowly,

“I needed you.”

He stops in his tracks, and he doesn’t move. Then he slowly turns, slipping his hands into his pockets, before tilting his head, and a cruel smile curves his lips.

“What made you think I would come?” he sneers, taking a step towards me.

My breath catches, and I am just about to answer when he takes another step.

“What makes you think I wanted to be there?” he pauses dramatically. “I don’t care about you,” he adds, taking two more steps, his voice rising with each word, “let alone your drug-addict mother.”

My vision blurs for a moment, and I blink my tears back, but one escapes anyway, sliding hot down my cheek.

“How long will you punish me?” I whisper through my clenched teeth. “Six years, Nathaniel… isn’t that enough? I sniffle between words. “ I have loved you with everything I have — even after the way you’ve treated me all those years.”

He lifts his hand, smirking like it’s all amusing to him and shakes his head once before arching his left brow. “With what?” he mocks. “Everything you have comes from me.”

I swallow the lump forming in my throat.

“And as for this so-called suffering…” he steps closer, towering over me. “Do you see any chains on you Betty?” his eyes move to my wrists. “ Leave if you want. Actually,” his smile turns dark and confident, “that would make it easier for me to take my daughter from you. Because she is not going anywhere.”

He turns again, leaving, but this time I reach out on instinct, grabbing his hand.

He freezes, looking as my fingers wrap around his, then at me, and I can see fury blazing in his eyes before he rips his hand out of mine.

“You cost me the most important thing in my life when you drugged me that night, Betty,” he spits, pointing his finger at me and taking a few steps back.

“I’m going to make sure you lose something just as important before I am done with you,” he threatens, and before my brain can digest his words, he is already striding down the hall to his chambers and slams his door shut once inside.

I stand there, my body trembling, and I feel my knees give out.

I sink to the cold, polished floor, my arms wrapping around my legs, and I pull them close to my chest.

The tears break free before I can stop them, rushing out in a quiet flood, but I force myself to cry silently.

God forbid anyone in this house hears me and adds “weak” to their list, so I cover my mouth to muffle the sounds and drag myself against the wall, letting it all out.

I cry for Mum. I cry for the ruins of my marriage. I cry for the six years I’ll never get back, and worst of all, I cry because I cannot believe he still thinks I drugged him all those years ago.

Once I’m done, I gather myself, wiping the tears off my face with the back of my hand, and step quietly into Grace’s room.

Her little lamp is now on, casting soft shadows on the walls, and she’s curled up under her elephant blanket, her eyes open and glassy.

“Why aren’t you sleeping, baby?” I whisper, walking closer and kneeling beside her bed.

“I heard yelling, Mom. Are you and Daddy fighting again?” she asks, her voice trembling, her small fingers gripping the edge of the blanket.

I blink fast, shaking my head. “No, love. We weren’t fighting. Daddy was just explaining something to me. Now close your eyes.”

She looks at me for a long moment, and I can tell she can see right through me.

Grace is only six, but sometimes it feels like she’s lived a thousand years. She sees too much and feels too deeply. That is why I always have to be careful around her.

I smooth her hair and tuck the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “You and I are going to do something fun tomorrow, okay?” I tell her, forcing a smile to distract her.

Her lips lift slightly, and the slightest hint of excitement returns to her tired little face. “Okay, Mama. But don’t forget to remind Daddy to sign my permission slip for the field trip,” she murmurs, yawning.

A sharp pang hits my chest, and I bite the insides of my cheeks. God, I’d forgotten all about that with everything else that’s been happening.

“I won’t forget, sweetheart.” I brush a strand of hair from her forehead and lean in to kiss her cheek.

I reach for the light to turn it off, but her voice comes again, sleepy, and full of something that breaks me.

“Mama,” she whispers, “don’t worry about Grandma. Daddy said when people we love die, they turn into angels and watch over us. I know Grandma is your angel now.”

A sound escapes me, something between a sob and a sigh, making me turn halfway, blinking fast as one tear slips down my cheek.

“Yes, she is my sweet girl. She is watching over both of us.” I clutch my chest with my hand. “Now go to sleep,” I whisper.

She yawns, her eyes fluttering shut, and her breathing slows. I stand there for a long moment, watching her little chest rise and fall, the tiny hand still clutching the blanket.

I turn off the light and step out, closing the door behind me softly, before leaning against it.

I stand there in the dark now hallway, feeling the ache in my chest slowly ease.

And it’s in these quiet moments, with Grace’s words echoing in my heart, that I know, despite everything, I could never regret meeting Nathaniel.

BETTY

BETTY

By the time I make it downstairs the next morning, the house is already alive with chaos.

Vendors swarm the halls like ants, hauling in towering bouquets, glittering balloons, and a massive golden sign declaring “Harriette’s 80th”, its golden metallic shine stabbing at my nerves.

I close my eyes and let out a dramatic sigh, the kind that would make Harriette frown in amusement if she were here.

Another event I don’t want to attend, but one I can’t skip. Not if I want to stay on the good side of the only person in this house who actually likes me.

I tighten my grip on the envelope containing Grace’s permission slip and steel myself.

I head toward Nathaniel’s study, hoping, praying, that he’s in a better mood than yesterday, and I find his door is slightly ajar.

I pause, draw a slow breath, and push it open.

Inside, his chair is empty, and two maids are hovering over dusting shelves and furniture, their movements precise but sharp with irritation.

I clear my throat, and they snap their heads toward me, their faces screaming why the hell are you here?

“I’m looking for Nathaniel,” I blurt, darting my eyes between them.

They exchange glances, one rolling their eyes at me. “He already left,” the other replies, barely looking at me.

I squint, my shoulders slumping, and I let out a huge sigh. “Already? It’s still early…” I mutter under my breath.

The maids ignore me, returning to their dusting as if I were air. I step out, feeling the weight of invisibility settle on me, and stare down at the envelope.

The signature is needed by midday, and failing Grace isn’t an option. My jaw tightens. “Fuck, I have to go see him at his office.”

The thought of going to that office makes my stomach twist, the way it did two years ago when Nathaniel told me that I shouldn’t be seen anywhere near Blackwell Enterprises unless it was an emergency.

Emergency. I never dared test the definition, not until today.

I step into the foyer, where Anders is orchestrating the chaos like a conductor with a short temper, and he spots me instantly.

His spine straightens, arms folding neatly behind him. “Anything I can do for you, ma’am?” he asks, politely but distant.

I offer a small smile and nod. “I need to head into town. Can I have someone drop me off?”

His expression doesn’t budge, but he sighs, slow and irritated. “All the drivers are out.”

I tilt my head and smile at him, all teeth out. “I’ll drive myself then, if you don’t mind.”

That earns me a look. The questioning one. The are you sure you can even handle that? look.

Before he opens his mouth, I cut him off. “Yes, Anders. I can drive, and I’ll be careful. I’ll bring the car back in perfect condition.”

He hesitates, then reaches into his pocket and hands me a set of keys. “You'd better. Those cars are not cheap.”

I scoff with a shrug. “I know, Anders. Thanks.”

I squeeze the keys in my palm and head toward the garage. Only one car remains—the rest are gone, and this one is unmistakably Nathaniel’s favorite.

A sleek, obsidian-black convertible. Low, muscular frame. Chrome edges sharp enough to cut someone. Leather interior that smells like power and privilege.

“Fuck!” I slap my forehead and do a three sixty, fear prickling down my spine.

But then the envelope in my hand catches the light, and I take a deep breath. “For Grace,” I whisper to myself.

I slide into the driver’s seat, breath catching in my throat as I hit the ignition, and the engine roars to life.

I pull out slowly, easing onto the driveway, then the road.

The wind rushes in, sweeping my hair back, and something loosens inside my chest until I find myself smiling, actually smiling. It’s been so long since I felt… free.

I turn on the radio, the music filling the car, and the road opens before me.

Within the hour, the city skyline rises like a wall of glass and steel, and Blackwell Enterprise stands in the middle of it—tall, silver, merciless.

I park right at the entrance, because I won’t be staying long, and I step out.

The glass doors slide open, and the building greets me with its usual chaos. Phones ringing nonstop, and people rushing past with files stacked to their chins.

I head straight for the elevator and press the top-floor button. My heart thuds faster the higher we climb, and by the time the doors open, my pulse is a drumbeat in my ears.

The top floor is different. Quiet. Cold, and the air feels heavier, like money and power and secrets.

I walk slowly, softening the sound of my heels just to make sure there is no attention drawn to me.

Nathaniel’s secretary’s desk is empty, so I look around to see if she is anywhere in sight, but I can’t see her.

I swallow, grip the envelope tighter, and step toward his door, but his voice coming from the other side of the door stops me in my tracks.

He sounds like he is speaking to someone. But I am not sure if someone is in there with him or if he is on the phone.

I turn and look at the secretary’s desk again and sigh. “Where the hell is she? I can’t just stand here like I am lost.”

My eyes sweep the hallway before I turn back to his door, and I’m seconds away from knocking when a woman’s voice floats from inside. I freeze.

Confusion hits me hard, rooting me to the spot, and I don’t know what to do next.

“How could you still be married to her, Nathaniel?” I hear a spiteful female voice ask.

I frown, and curiosity nudges me closer. I don’t mean to listen, God knows I don’t, but I can’t stop myself, so I lean in my ear against the door.

“My marriage to her is complicated,” Nathaniel answers, his voice cold as steel. “I had to. It was either that or lose my place in the family. It was out of obligation.”

My stomach twists violently.

“So she trapped you, right?. And you don’t love her, do you?”

I flinch. Because one thing is for sure is I don’t think I want to hear what comes next.

I want to turn around and get out of there, but somehow, my feet refuse to move. My heart begins to thud in my chest, the silence inside there deafening, but then, I hear him sigh.

“No. I don’t. I could never love anyone as I loved you.”

“What?” I gasp, my hand covering my mouth. My vision blurs, my ears begin to ring, and I feel the hallway begin to tilt.

I stumble back just as a hand touches my arm.

“Mrs. Blackwell? Are you okay?” I turn and find Nathaniel’s secretary looking at me, her face filled with concern.

I stare at her, struggling to breathe, and my throat tightens. “N…no,” I whisper, shoving the envelope into her hands. “Give him this. It’s for Grace. Tell him it must be faxed to the school by midday.”

Before she can respond, I turn and bolt for the elevator, my breath hitching in painful bursts.