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Chapter 427
Chapter 427:
It was a medical file. The header bore the official crest of New York-Presbyterian Hospital, and across the top, a bright red stamp read: CONFIDENTIAL.
The patient name printed on the first line was June Erickson.
Eleanor’s heart physically skipped a beat. She turned quickly to the final page, her eyes moving rapidly across the dense medical terminology.
Her gaze locked onto the concluding diagnosis.
R𝗲𝘢𝗱 on an𝘆 𝖽e𝘃𝗶се 𝘰𝗇
Secondary Infertility. Premature Ovarian Failure.
The air was sucked violently from Eleanor’s lungs.
The world tilted. A blinding, roaring static filled her ears. The heavy file slipped from her trembling fingers and scattered across the plush floorboards of the Lincoln.
June. Her brilliant, perfect June. The woman she had fought so hard to keep within the family.
She could not have children.
The realization struck Eleanor’s chest like a physical blow, shattering her entire worldview and the meticulously constructed future she had envisioned for the Compton legacy.
Outside the car, Alycia watched the matriarch collapse into the shadows.
She smiled. It was the cruelest, most victorious smile she had ever worn.
Alycia said nothing more. She didn’t need to.
She turned on her heel, the sharp click of her shoes against the pavement cutting through the silence, and walked back through the sliding glass doors of the hospital with her security guards flanking her on either side. She left absolute devastation in her wake.
Inside the Lincoln, Eleanor was paralyzed.
She slumped against the leather seat, her breathing shallow and erratic, eyes fixed blankly on the medical papers scattered across the floorboards.
Mrs. Lynch leaned forward from the front seat, her face pale with fear.
“Madam?” she whispered.
It took Eleanor a full minute to find her voice. When she spoke, it sounded like grinding stone.
“Take me home,” Eleanor rasped.
The convoy pulled away from the hospital, carrying a broken queen back to her castle.
Twenty-four hours later, the sun was setting over JFK International Airport.
Cole Compton stepped off his private Gulfstream looking exhausted, but with a hard, satisfied edge to his jaw. The Zurich merger was complete. Another billion dollars secured for the empire.
He had absolutely no idea that his world in New York had already burned to the ground.
His chief assistant met him on the tarmac and held the Maybach door open.
“Sir,” the assistant said, his voice carefully controlled. “Regarding the news about Miss Beasley p>
“Tell PR to bury it,” Cole cut him off, his tone impatient. He assumed Alycia had leaked another minor rumor.
He climbed into the back seat. “Take me to the Manor. I need to speak with my grandmother p>
He wanted to report the merger. He wanted to reclaim his footing in the family.
Forty minutes later, the Maybach rolled to a stop outside the Compton Estate.
Cole walked through the heavy front doors. The house was completely silent — the silence of a tomb.
He made his way to the main living room.
Eleanor was seated in a high-backed chair near the unlit fireplace, her back to him. She looked small and impossibly still.
Cole stepped forward. “Grandmother. I’m back from Zurich. The deal is p>