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Chapter 681:

“You were never pregnant,” Eleanor continued, her voice almost conversational. “You were never going to be pregnant. You used my grandson’s grief for his brother—his desperate need to believe himself honorable—to construct a fantasy that would bind him to you forever.” She picked up her tea, sipped, and set it down with precise care. “But Cole is not the only one who grieves, Alycia. I lost a grandson too. I watched Caleb die. And I will not—” her voice hardened, became absolute, “—I will not allow his memory to be profaned by a creature like you p>

Alycia opened her mouth. No sound emerged. She tried again, forcing words past the constriction in her throat. “The test is wrong. It’s fabricated, it’s p>

“Signed by three independent geneticists. Verified by our own laboratory. Admissible in court.” Eleanor’s smile was terrible and beautiful, the smile of a woman who had never been denied anything worth wanting. “You have committed fraud, Alycia. Medical fraud, wire fraud, conspiracy to commit extortion. The penalties—” she waved her hand vaguely, “—well. You know better than I what you’re facing. Your attorney has undoubtedly informed you p>

Alycia felt her vision blur. She felt her body sway, her hands gripping the arms of the wicker chair to keep herself upright.

𝖣о𝘸𝗇𝗹𝗼𝘢𝘥а𝖻𝗹𝗲 𝖯𝖣𝗙s 𝗼𝗇

“Please,” she whispered. The word emerged ragged and desperate, stripped of all performance. “Please. I’ll leave. I’ll go anywhere. Argentina—you wanted me to go to Argentina p>

“That offer expired when you threatened to destroy my family’s reputation with lies about rape and assault.” Eleanor’s voice was final, absolute. “You threatened to contact the New York Post, Alycia. You threatened to destroy everything I have built, everything my husband built, everything my grandsons—” she stopped, her composure cracking just slightly, just enough to reveal the grief beneath. “You threatened to destroy their legacy. And for that, there is no forgiveness. There is only justice p>

She reached for a bell on the table beside her and rang it once, twice.

The solarium doors opened. Two security guards entered—large men in dark suits, their expressions professionally blank.

“Remove her,” Eleanor said, not looking at Alycia again. “And ensure she is never admitted to this property again. Under any circumstances p>

Alycia felt hands on her arms, lifting her from the chair, guiding her toward the door. She tried to resist, tried to speak, but her body would not obey. Her mind was white noise, static, the scream of a system overloaded beyond capacity.

She had lost.

She had lost everything.

And the worst part—the part she would carry with her into whatever darkness came next—was that she had never, not for a single moment, been anything more than a pawn in a game played by women like Eleanor Compton and June Erickson.

Women who were real.

Women who won.

Cole Compton found the solarium empty except for his grandmother, who sat in her wicker chair staring out at the Atlantic with an expression he could not read.

“She was here,” he said. Not a question.

“She was.” Eleanor did not turn. “She is gone now. Permanently p>

Cole walked to the windows, stood beside his grandmother’s chair, and followed her gaze to the horizon. The ocean was gray today, choppy, the line between sea and sky blurred by approaching weather.

“What did she want p>

“Money. Sympathy. The usual currency of her kind.” Eleanor’s voice was dry, exhausted. “She brought medical records. Forged, of course. A hysterectomy she claims was caused by her father’s violence, which she intended to blame on you p>

Cole felt his jaw tighten. “And p>