Chapter 2: The Taste of Mint and Malice<\/p>\n
I ended the call and glided back into the ballroom just as Julian descended the stage steps. He was immediately swarmed by sycophants raising crystal glasses, desperate for a sliver of his newly minted, scandalous limelight. As I approached, his brow furrowed imperceptibly. He looked genuinely offended, as if my composed demeanor was an insult to the grand tragedy he had orchestrated.<\/p>\n
Khloe stood practically glued to his bicep. Seeing me, she carefully unlatched her fingers from his suit. \u201cEleanor, I\u2026 I am so incredibly sorry. I had absolutely no idea Julian would say something so dramatic in a setting like this. I begged him not to, but he\u2014\u201d She paused, expertly biting her lower lip as her eyes flushed with fresh, manufactured tears.<\/p>\n
Before I could respond, Victoria Vance intercepted us. My mother-in-law was a woman whose entire personality was wrapped in old money pretension, despite her family\u2019s wealth being largely a facade. She reflexively touched her heavy pearl necklace, her voice pitched perfectly to ensure the nearest gossip columnists could eavesdrop.<\/p>\n
\u201cEleanor, darling. For a woman in your unfortunate position, the most vital skill is learning to read the room. Julian has made his heart explicitly clear. Don\u2019t throw a tantrum and make this embarrassing for everyone.\u201d<\/p>\n
I leveled my gaze at her. Three years ago, when I first crossed the threshold of the Vance estate as a newlywed, she had touched those exact same pearls and coldly informed me, \u201cThe Sterling family might have some crude cash from running raw material businesses, but now that you are part of the Vance family, you need to learn our refined rules.\u201d Back then, in my naive pursuit of a peaceful marriage, I believed compromise was the bedrock of love. Tonight, the veil was lifted. Some people don\u2019t want a compromise; they want a doormat.<\/p>\n
Julian finally stepped forward, adopting his best diplomatic CEO voice. \u201cEleanor, how this unfolded tonight was poorly considered on my part. I concede that. But Khloe has been by my side for five grueling years. She has sacrificed her youth for this company. I simply cannot let her remain in the shadows, unacknowledged, any longer.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stared at the man I had shared a bed with for three years, feeling nothing but the chilling realization that I was looking at a complete stranger. Five years of organizing his calendar and fetching his oat milk lattes was a \u201csacrifice.\u201d Yet my three years of secretly stabilizing his collapsing supply chains, securing high-level resources, plugging his multi-million dollar funding gaps, and hiding his family\u2019s catastrophic financial incompetence was framed as me enjoying prestige.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe can discuss the divorce settlement privately,\u201d Julian continued, his tone flat, dropping the final insult. \u201cYou can ask for whatever you want. I will make sure you are taken care of.\u201d He delivered the line with the magnanimous air of a king throwing a copper coin to a beggar.<\/p>\n
I gave a single, crisp nod. \u201cOkay.\u201d<\/p>\n
Victoria\u2019s tense posture visibly melted into relief. A momentary, predatory flash of triumph illuminated Khloe\u2019s eyes before she swiftly bowed her head, resuming her act as the anxious, accidental homewrecker.<\/p>\n
Julian, however, looked entirely destabilized by my rapid capitulation. \u201cYou\u2019re agreeing? Just like that? Are you sure?\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked up at him, fully aware of the live stream cameras still pivoting in our direction. Half the room was holding its breath, waiting for me to shatter\u2014to scream, to claw at Khloe\u2019s perfectly styled hair, or to collapse to my knees and beg the Vance family for mercy. Instead, I gracefully placed my half-empty champagne glass onto the silver tray of a passing waiter. The delicate crystal struck the metal with a sharp, resonant clink.<\/p>\n
\u201cJulian,\u201d I said, my voice cutting through the ambient hum of the ballroom like a scalpel. \u201cA divorce is perfectly fine. But the terms will not be yours to dictate.\u201d<\/p>\n
By midnight, the leaked footage from the gala had saturated Twitter, TikTok, and TMZ. It mutated into a viral wildfire of the ugliest variety. The trending hashtags read like a digital stoning.
\nWhen Tyler forwarded me the screenshots of the vitriolic comments, I was standing in the kitchen of my Brooklyn Heights brownstone, boiling a pot of penne pasta.<\/p>\n
He fired off a barrage of frantic voice memos. \u201cEl, look at this garbage! They\u2019re saying you must be some gold-digging nobody from an insignificant family who tried to climb the social ladder, and now that you\u2019re exposed, you\u2019re too cowardly to fight back! This one says, \u2018Khloe was with him during the startup trenches\u2014true love always wins!\u2019 And this one is actually critiquing your bone structure, saying you don\u2019t possess the \u2018aura\u2019 of a wealthy household!\u201d<\/p>\n
I fished a single noodle from the roiling water, blew on it, and took a bite. Still needs salt. I sighed, reaching for the ceramic shaker and dusting the water with a heavy pinch.<\/p>\n
Tyler was practically hyperventilating on a live call now. \u201cEl! Are you even comprehending the words coming out of my mouth? The entire internet is currently drafting a pathetic, tragic screenplay of your life, and I can hear you stirring a pot!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI hear you perfectly, Ty,\u201d I murmured. \u201cAnd then what? If I panic, the pasta is going to get soggy.\u201d<\/p>\n
The line went dead silent. I could hear him grinding his teeth. \u201cYou are terrifying. I have never witnessed a human being become the main character of national gossip and still prioritize their carbohydrate intake.\u201d<\/p>\n
I carried my ceramic bowl out to the enclosed balcony. This brownstone was a historic, ivy-choked sanctuary left to me by my grandmother. Rain from a recent storm still clung to the brick walls, and in the corner, a sprawling cluster of potted mint gave off a brilliant, glossy green sheen. The night breeze carried its crisp, clean scent, cutting through the humidity. When I left the gala, I hadn\u2019t returned to the sprawling, sterile Vance estate. When the driver asked for my destination, I gave him this address. He was bewildered; the Vance family had no idea this property existed. To them, Eleanor was just a mild-mannered girl with no powerful backing, lucky to share their surname.<\/p>\n
The doorbell chimed. I opened it to find Tyler. He looked immaculate in a razor-sharp gray suit, yet he was awkwardly balancing a cardboard tray of two sugar-free cold brews and a massive, grease-stained food truck burrito.<\/p>\n
\u201cHot and cold balance,\u201d he announced, marching inside. \u201cScientific wellness.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re deeply lying to yourself,\u201d I said, locking the door.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhatever. As long as it converts to calories.\u201d He dumped his haul onto my rustic wooden dining table and scanned the room. \u201cYou finally moved back to civilization. This place is infinitely better than the Vance mausoleum. Their living room is so grotesquely huge it feels like a soundstage built exclusively for people to perform being miserable.\u201d<\/p>\n
I offered a small smile. Tyler cracked open his laptop, the blue light reflecting in his eyes. \u201cVance Holdings is already bleeding. The absolute second your dad froze the credit lines, their accounting department went into cardiac arrest. My insiders tell me Julian has already made three panicked calls to their partner banks. Oh, and your replacement hasn\u2019t been idle either. She posted on Instagram.\u201d<\/p>\n
He shoved his phone into my face. Khloe had uploaded a moody, artistic shot from backstage at the gala. Half her face was obscured by an obscenely large floral arrangement. The caption read: I never set out to steal anything from anyone. It\u2019s just that sometimes, when true feelings are suppressed in the dark for too long, the silence becomes unbearable.<\/p>\n
Tyler rolled his eyes so aggressively I thought he might strain a muscle. \u201cShe calls this \u2018not wanting to steal\u2019? Please. She practically has \u2018Future Mrs. Vance\u2019 tattooed across her forehead in neon ink.\u201d<\/p>\n
Just as he spoke, my phone screen illuminated with an incoming call. Victoria Vance.<\/p>\n
I stared at the caller ID, letting it ring for a grueling fifteen seconds before I finally answered.<\/p>\n
Victoria\u2019s voice dripped with practiced, haughty concern. \u201cEleanor, darling. You vanished in such a rush last night. The family was absolutely beside itself with worry.\u201d<\/p>\n
I glanced at Tyler, who was aggressively pantomiming a gag reflex over his burrito. I bit the inside of my cheek to suppress a laugh. \u201cHow can I help you, Victoria?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy are you speaking to your elders with such a hostile tone?\u201d she sighed, a delicate, wounded sound. \u201cJulian was\u2026 undeniably impulsive last night. But men of his stature face unimaginable pressures in their empires. Having a woman by his side who can actively assist his daily burdens isn\u2019t easy to find. As his wife, you should possess the grace to be understanding.\u201d<\/p>\n
I remained utterly silent. Mistaking my silence for submission, her tone softened into a weaponized lullaby. \u201cKhloe has worshipped Julian for years. She\u2019s suffered the indignity of hiding without a proper title. Your dynamic with Julian has always been terribly frosty anyway, Eleanor. Why not take the high road and be generous? The Vance family won\u2019t leave you destitute. We\u2019re prepared to offer a luxury condo, and we can negotiate a very respectable cash payout. You\u2019re still young enough. Taking a settlement and fading away quietly is nothing to be ashamed of.\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked down at my fingertips, which still carried the sharp, earthy scent of crushed mint leaves. Over three years, Victoria had mastered this exact cadence\u2014sounding like a benevolent benefactor while aggressively shoving you into the dirt. She used to frame my refusal to social climb as a character flaw. She framed my lack of a pregnancy as a \u201cblessing\u201d for the family\u2019s genetics. Now, she was framing my replacement as a golden parachute.<\/p>\n
\u201cMrs. Vance,\u201d I said, my voice dropping to a silken whisper. \u201cAre you terrified that I will be embarrassed? Or are you terrified that the Vance family will be exposed?\u201d<\/p>\n
The line went dead. The silence was thick enough to choke on.<\/p>\n
\u201cEleanor, you are behaving in a profoundly unpleasant manner,\u201d she finally snapped, the facade cracking.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhen your son dragged his mistress onto a stage and declared her the lady of the house on a live broadcast, did you not find that slightly unpleasant?\u201d I countered, my voice chilling the air.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat was Julian\u2019s executive decision! If you wish to assign blame, look in a mirror and ask yourself why you failed to maintain your husband\u2019s affections!\u201d<\/p>\n
Tyler practically vibrated with rage, silently mouthing a string of highly explicit curses. I merely smiled at the ivy creeping up my balcony window. \u201cSo, why the urgent phone call, Victoria? Are you demanding my compliance to help you mop up this public relations bloodbath?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cReturn to the estate tomorrow,\u201d she ordered, dropping all pretense. \u201cWe will arrange a curated photoshoot with you and Julian. We will issue a joint statement claiming the media maliciously took his words out of context, and that Khloe is merely a highly valued employee. Once the media storm evaporates, we will execute the divorce privately. You need to read the room, Eleanor.\u201d<\/p>\n
Read the room. Her favorite weaponized phrase.<\/p>\n
I looked at the mint plant. A few rogue stems had grown twisted and crooked, suffocating the fragile new sprouts beneath them. My grandmother used to say, You can\u2019t be afraid of the shears. Only when you aggressively amputate the rot will the roots grow invincible.<\/p>\n
\u201cI won\u2019t be returning,\u201d I said simply.<\/p>\n
Her voice pitched into a shrill shriek. \u201cDo not reject a life raft when it is thrown to you! The Vance family offering you a dignified exit is a courtesy, out of respect for the three wasted years you spent under our roof!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m curious,\u201d I mused softly. \u201cExactly how much dignity do you assume the Vance family actually has left in its reserves to offer me?\u201d<\/p>\n
She sputtered, utterly derailed by my defiance. I didn\u2019t give her a chance to recover.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe cameras were rolling, Victoria. The entire world heard Julian\u2019s manifesto. You want my cooperation now because you need me to get on my hands and knees and scrub the scandal off your pristine marble steps. But Mrs. Vance\u2026 my knees are tired.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat on earth is that supposed to mean?!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt means I am done scrubbing your messes.\u201d<\/p>\n
I ended the call. Tyler instantly erupted into applause, slamming his hand on the table so hard a chunk of chicken launched out of his tortilla. \u201cPoetry! Absolute poetry! You are finally radiating the terrifying aura of a billionaire\u2019s heir.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cQuiet, Ty,\u201d I murmured, staring at the black screen of my phone.<\/p>\n
I wasn\u2019t afraid of the Vance family hearing me. I was simply reflecting on why I had buried the Sterling name for so long. Growing up, I was surrounded by sycophants who would dynamically alter their entire personalities the moment they realized who my father was. Flattery, calculated awe, desperate groveling. I naively thought that by hiding my crown during my marriage, I might witness a person\u2019s authentic soul.<\/p>\n
I did witness it. And the soul of Julian Vance was a desolate, ugly thing.<\/p>\n
The following morning, a dreary, gray rain washed over the city. I didn\u2019t return to the Vance estate. Instead, I took a cab to a hidden, dilapidated antique bookshop tucked away at the end of Bedford Street in the West Village. The storefront was cramped, the glass windows fogged with age, and the proprietor, Mr. Henderson, possessed a temper significantly worse than the dust coating his first editions.
\nAs the brass bell chimed my arrival, he peered at me over the rim of a yellowed newspaper. \u201cBack to haunt me? Haven\u2019t finished deciphering that vintage fountain pen repair manual yet, have you?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI finished the manual, but I still managed to fracture the Parker pen,\u201d I admitted, pulling the sleek, vintage writing instrument from my leather tote. A hairline crack spiderwebbed across the resin cap. It was one of the few physical artifacts my grandmother had left me.<\/p>\n
Mr. Henderson snatched it from my palm, shoving his thick reading glasses up the bridge of his nose. \u201cI can salvage this. But it demands patience. Resurrecting old things is always more expensive and painful than just buying a shiny new replacement.\u201d He scoffed, tossing the pen into a velvet tray. \u201cYou nostalgic types are an absolute nightmare for my blood pressure.\u201d<\/p>\n
I smiled, a bittersweet curve of my lips. He was entirely correct. I used to be chronically nostalgic. Nostalgic for the illusion of a respectable, loving marriage. Nostalgic for the fleeting, breadcrumb moments of warmth Julian occasionally offered. Nostalgic for the elaborate meals I cooked from scratch, the silk ties I perfectly knotted for him, the agonizingly late nights I waited by the window for his headlights.<\/p>\n
But a fractured vintage pen could be bound and repaired. When a human heart grows crooked and rotten, the only cure is amputation.<\/p>\n
The shop door violently swung open, and Tyler blew in, clutching a stack of manila folders, his face flushed with manic glee. \u201cI am dressed for corporate warfare!\u201d he announced to the room.<\/p>\n
Mr. Henderson slammed his newspaper down. \u201cKeep your decibels manageable in my shop, you caffeinated hooligan.\u201d<\/p>\n
Tyler\u2019s mouth snapped shut. He practically tiptoed over to my small reading table, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. \u201cEl, the audit is complete. The public relations nightmare is just a paper cut. The fatal wounds to Vance Holdings are three specific lifelines.\u201d<\/p>\n
He spread the confidential files across the scarred oak wood. \u201cArtery number one: The annual mega-supply contract between Vance and the Carmichael Group. Artery number two: Their commercial bank credit renewals. Artery number three: Their exclusive overseas raw material logistics. Every single one of these beats to the rhythm of the Sterling family\u2019s hidden pacemaker.\u201d<\/p>\n
The CEO of the Carmichael Group was my father\u2019s oldest confidant. He had awarded Vance that lucrative contract strictly as a wedding gift to me. The banks were even more deeply entangled; when Vance Holdings recklessly expanded two years ago, their cash reserves evaporated. It was the Sterling Investment Department that had quietly constructed a shadow network of credit guarantees to stop Julian\u2019s empire from imploding under a mountain of short-term debt.<\/p>\n
\u201cDoes Julian have any inkling of this?\u201d Tyler asked, tapping the files.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe might not be entirely blind,\u201d I murmured, tracing the edge of a folder. \u201cBut Julian is a man who vastly prefers the mythology of his own brilliance. Men of his caliber possess a spectacular talent for standing on the shoulders of giants and convincing themselves they sprouted wings.\u201d<\/p>\n
Tyler grinned like a shark. \u201cWell, according to Richard Sterling\u2019s explicit orders, we are amputating the wings. We can trigger a total collapse of Vance\u2019s accounting department by midnight.\u201d<\/p>\n
I flipped through the Carmichael contract, my eyes scanning the heavily redacted clauses. \u201cDon\u2019t sever the arteries entirely.\u201d<\/p>\n
Tyler\u2019s manic energy faltered. \u201cAre you kidding me? Are you still harboring a soft spot for this parasite?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPull the Carmichael contract, but tell them to stall the final signature\u2014blame it on \u2018market volatility.\u2019 For the banks, demand an immediate, aggressive reassessment of risk control, but don\u2019t issue a hard rejection yet. For the overseas channels, revoke their VIP priority status, but leave the door open just a crack.\u201d<\/p>\n
Tyler stared at me, his analytical brain processing the strategy. \u201cYou\u2019re intentionally leaving them a breadcrumb trail.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m leaving them a multiple-choice exam where every answer is agony,\u201d I corrected.<\/p>\n
A slow, terrifying grin spread across Tyler\u2019s face. \u201cI see the vision. The bridges aren\u2019t burned, but they are rigged with explosives. They\u2019ll have to crawl on their hands and knees, begging you for the privilege to cross.\u201d<\/p>\n
I nodded, my gaze hard. \u201cIf Vance Holdings detonates overnight, the narrative will spin. The media will claim the monolithic Sterling Empire used its billions to crush a helpless startup out of petty spite. I don\u2019t want a murder. I want an autopsy. I want the world to watch them try to walk, and realize the only reason the Vance family ever stood tall was because I was the floorboards keeping them out of the mud.\u201d<\/p>\n
From behind the counter, Mr. Henderson slowly lowered his paper. \u201cYou let people step on you long enough, kid, and they start complaining that the floor is creaking.\u201d<\/p>\n
Tyler slammed his hand on the table. \u201cMr. Henderson, that is devastatingly profound!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDo not slap my seventeenth-century antique table, you absolute barbarian!\u201d the old man barked.
\n<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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