Chapter 44 No Competition, No Obstacles
The silence on the stairs was deafening.
Veyra stood with her hand on the banister, her back to the living room, Eleanor’s words still hanging in the air like smoke. She could feel eyes on her. Dozens of eyes. Judging. Suspicious.
She did not turn around.
But someone else spoke. A voice she did not recognize. One of the distant relatives, maybe. Or a family friend who had been standing in the corner.
"You know," the voice said, "it does make you think. The child went missing while she was watching her. And then she just happens to find her? After a dramatic rescue?"
Veyra’s grip tightened on the banister.
"Maybe it was all staged," the voice continued. "Maybe she planned the whole thing with her ex-boyfriend. A little kidnapping. A little rescue. Makes her look like a hero."
Murmurs rippled through the room.
"She’s carrying Dorian’s child," another voice said. "If anything happened to Little Lily, that child would be the only heir. No competition with no obstacles."
Veyra’s blood ran cold.
"I’m not saying she did it on purpose," the first voice said. "I’m just saying we should consider all possibilities."
"She lost the child in the first place," someone else added. "That’s a fact. Then she brought her back. That’s also a fact. But what happened in between? We only have her word."
The murmurs grew louder.
Veyra closed her eyes. Her hand was shaking on the banister.
She wanted to turn around. She wanted to scream. She wanted to tell them that Eleanor was the one. Eleanor had planned everything. Eleanor had hired the kidnappers. Eleanor was standing in this room right now, pretending to be innocent, while pointing fingers at Veyra.
But she had no proof.
No proof. Just a feeling. Just the way Eleanor’s eyes flickered. Just the smug smile. Just the panic that had flashed across her face when the butler announced Dorian’s call.
If she accused Eleanor now, without evidence, they would tear her apart.
She kept her back to the room and waited.
Everyone was watching Dorian.
He stood in the center of the living room, his arms crossed, his gray eyes moving slowly from face to face. He had not spoken since Eleanor’s remarks. He had not defended Veyra. He had not condemned her.
He was waiting.
The room held its breath.
Then he looked up. His eyes found Veyra on the stairs.
She felt his gaze like a weight. Her heart pounded. She wanted to believe he trusted her. But after the car ride, after his words about her disrupting his plan, she was not sure of anything.
His face was calm. Unreadable. He did not smile. He did not frown. He just looked at her.
Veyra lifted her chin. She had nothing to hide. She had saved Lily. She had done the right thing.
But still, her stomach churned.
Say something, she thought. Tell them I’m not a liar. Tell them I didn’t do this.
Dorian opened his mouth.
And then Lily burst into tears.
The sound cut through the tension like a blade. High. Sharp. Uncontrollable.
"Stop it!" Lily sobbed. She was still in Beatrice’s arms, her small body shaking. "Stop saying those things! Veyra is not a bad person! She saved me!"
Beatrice tried to calm her. "Sweetheart—"
"She swam in the lake! She had a gun! She put it to his head and told him to drop the knife!" Lily’s voice rose. "She was so brave! And you’re all being mean to her!"
The room went silent.
Lily pulled away from Beatrice. She ran to the bottom of the stairs. She looked up at Veyra with tear-streaked cheeks.
"Don’t listen to them," Lily said. "You’re my hero."
Veyra’s eyes burned. She blinked back tears.
"Thank you, Lily," she said quietly. "That means more than you know."
The Old Madam’s voice cut through the room.
"Enough."
Everyone turned. The Old Madam was sitting in her wheelchair, her blanket pulled tight around her shoulders, her face pale but composed.
"The child has spoken," the Old Madam said. "She was there. She saw what happened. If she says Veyra saved her, then Veyra saved her."
Beatrice nodded. Her eyes were wet. "My granddaughter doesn’t lie."
The murmurs died down. The accusatory glances faded. People looked away, embarrassed.
Veyra let out a breath she did not know she had been holding.
But Eleanor was not looking away.
She stood by the window, her arms crossed, her face tight. Her eyes were fixed on Lily. On Veyra. On the Old Madam.
Her jaw was clenched so hard Veyra could see the muscles jumping.
Veyra met her gaze. She did not look away.
For a moment, just a moment, Eleanor’s composure cracked. Something ugly flashed across her face. Hatred. Pure and raw.
Then she looked down. She smoothed her dress. She arranged her features into something neutral.
But Veyra had seen it.
She knew.
The butler appeared in the doorway.
"Dr Harrison has arrived," he announced.
Dorian nodded. He walked to the bottom of the stairs and picked Lily up. She wrapped her arms around his neck.
"I’m taking her upstairs," Dorian said. "Dr. Harrison needs to check her neck. And Veyra needs to be examined as well."
He looked at Veyra. "Come."
He did not wait for her response. He carried Lily up the stairs and disappeared around the corner.
Veyra followed.
The rest of the family trailed behind. Beatrice and Harold. Phillip. Celeste. Marcus. The distant relatives who had been whispering.
Eleanor brought up the rear.
Veyra could feel her eyes on the back of her neck. She did not turn around.
They reached the top of the stairs. The hallway was narrow. People had to walk single file.
Eleanor passed Veyra.
As she did, she let out a deliberate snort. Cold and dismissive.
Veyra’s hand shot out. She grabbed Eleanor’s arm.
"What?" Eleanor said. Her voice was sharp. "Let go of me."
Veyra leaned close. Her voice was low. Quiet. Only for Eleanor to hear.
"Aren’t you afraid?" Veyra said. "That the truth will come out? That someone will talk? That Dorian will find out what you did?"
Eleanor’s eyes flickered. Just for a second.
Then she smiled. It was a cold smile that was confident.
"There’s no way you can trace anything back to me," Eleanor whispered. Her breath was warm against Veyra’s ear. "I made sure of that. You have nothing. No proof. No witnesses. Nothing."
She pulled her arm free. She smoothed her sleeve. She walked away.
Veyra stood frozen in the hallway.
Her hands were shaking. Her heart was pounding.
Eleanor was right. She had no proof. No evidence. Just a gut feeling and a photograph of a man in a mask.
But she would find proof. She would find something.
She would not let Eleanor win.
She went to her room.
The door closed behind her. The lock clicked. She was alone.
Her chest was tight. Her throat was burning. She wanted to scream. She wanted to throw something. She wanted to break something.
She walked to the bathroom. She did not bother taking off her clothes. She turned on the shower. The water was cold at first. Then hot. Then scalding.
She stepped under the spray.
Fully clothed.
The water soaked through her robe. Through her clothes. Through her skin. It was hot. Almost too hot. But she did not turn it down.
She stood there, head bowed, water streaming down her face, and she let herself feel it.
The rage.
The frustration.
The helplessness.
Eleanor had tried to kill Lily. Had tried to frame Veyra. Had tried to destroy everything.
And she was going to get away with it.
Unless Veyra stopped her.
She looked around the shower. Her eyes landed on a bottle of shampoo. Green. Glass.
She grabbed it.
She threw it against the wall.
The bottle shattered. Glass shards flew. Shampoo splattered across the tiles. The sound was loud. Satisfying.
Veyra stood there, breathing hard, water still pouring over her.
"I will not let her win," she said out loud. Her voice was hoarse. "I will find proof. I will prove my innocence. And I will make sure everyone knows what she did."
She turned off the water.
She stepped out of the shower. Water dripped from her clothes onto the floor. She peeled off the wet robe. Her clothes. Her shoes.
She wrapped herself in a towel.
Her hair was dripping. Her skin was pink from the heat. Her eyes were red.
She opened the bathroom door.
Dorian was standing by the bedside table.
His back was to her. His hand was inside the drawer. He was putting something inside.
Veyra froze.
The towel was wrapped around her body. Her hair was wet. Her feet were bare. She had not expected anyone to be in the room.
Dorian turned.
He saw her.
His hand was still in the drawer. His gray eyes widened. Just for a moment.
Veyra saw what was in his hand.
A pistol.
Black. Sleek. The same one she had taken from his nightstand. The same one she had pressed against the kidnapper’s head.
They stared at each other.
The room was silent.
Dorian’s jaw tightened. His fingers closed around the grip.
Veyra’s heart pounded.
Neither of them spoke.