Eleanor stood by the floor-to-ceiling window in her study, her gaze lingering on the dark sky above. The stars were scattered like spilled glitter, faint yet constant, whispering memories of a past she'd tried for so long to forget. In the distance, a plane passed silently overhead, blinking red and white across the heavens.
Her thoughts swirled like a storm cloud. "The assassination order wasn't for Eleanor Raynor... but for Eleanor Whitmore," she murmured to herself.
That detail changed everything.
"It means the order didn't come from the business world... and definitely not from the supernatural circles either. If it had, the bounty would be in the millions… not a mere hundred thousand dollars. No, this is personal. It has to be the Whitmore family."
She clenched her fists, brows furrowed in cold realization. "Willow White must have informed Jennifer about my return. And now... they're desperate. Of course… they would be. The seven-year deadline is almost here. They can't take any chances."
A wave of memories from her childhood hit her like a gust of winter wind… sharp, sudden, and unrelenting.
Her mother had passed away when she was barely six months old. The only thing she had left of her was a few faded photographs and the business empire she'd built from scratch. Eleanor's memories before her bloodline awakening had been vague, but afterward, everything was vivid. Strangely, despite the mental clarity, she still couldn't recall a single moment spent with her mother. Her presence existed only in stories... and regrets.
After her mother's death, Aunt Isabella had stepped in. A kind woman who claimed to be a distant relative of her mother's side. Eleanor had no memory of ever meeting another member of her maternal family. She does not even know the names of her grandparents. Nothing. Her mother's world had been erased… was it deliberate?
She remembered being eight when Jeanne, her "kind" stepmother, suddenly fired Aunt Isabella. Eleanor had cried for days. Jeanne had comforted her, winning her trust with a sweet voice and fake warmth. It wasn't until now that Eleanor realized she had completely forgotten about Isabella.
Her face darkened.
She pulled out her phone and dialed Teresa. "I want you to find an old lady named Isabella Thomas," she said, her tone low but urgent. "She must be in her early fifties by now. She was my nanny, looked after me until I was eight. After she was fired, I heard she returned to her hometown… somewhere in Birmingham. She once told me her house was near Edgbaston Stadium. Cross-reference the timeline. I want her location by tonight. I want to visit her tomorrow."
"Okay, Boss," Teresa replied.
Eleanor ended the call and groaned… she'd just sat down to relax after a grueling day, but a paycheck that size made up for the sudden overtime. She threw off her blanket and got to work.
Meanwhile, Eleanor paced across the room. "How stupid was I?" she whispered, shaking her head bitterly. "To think Jeanne was a gentle stepmother… and Jennifer, a loving older sister."
They had orchestrated her life like a play… every move, every emotion. Puppeteers in velvet gloves.
"How could a father participate in planning the rape of his own daughter? He even wanted me dead." Her voice cracked, but she swallowed the lump in her throat. "Is he really my father?"
A chilling possibility emerged. What if William Whitmore wasn't her biological father at all?
"I need to find out the truth. I need a DNA test… as soon as possible."
Back when she first returned to the U.S., Eleanor had reached out to a few of her mother's former business partners. Through them, she'd pieced together fragments of the truth.
Her mother, Esmeralda Langford, had suffered complications during childbirth and remained hospitalized until her death. At the time, no one knew who Eleanor's father was. William Whitmore had worked closely with her mother as a personal assistant and took over managing the company during her illness. After Esmeralda's death, he suddenly produced a marriage certificate and claimed Eleanor as his daughter.
On her deathbed, Esmeralda had gathered her partners and declared that all her assets would go to her daughter, Eleanor Langford. She added a clause stating none of the properties could be sold or transferred until Eleanor turned twenty. William became Eleanor's legal guardian and temporary custodian of all her mother's assets… and, of course, the acting chairman of the company.
Just a few months later, he married Jeanne Baker.
And with that, Eleanor Langford became the second daughter of the Whitmore family, second to Jennifer Whitmore, who was Jeanne's daughter with William Whitmore before their marriage.
Everything suddenly clicked.
James Clifford's mother was Phoebe Baker. She'd seen Phoebe and Jeanne together several times, always speaking in familiar tones. James hadn't come into her life by chance… he had a role to play, too.
She remembered how James had always come to her rescue in school, playing the hero. But when had the bullying begun?
It all started when someone spread a rumor that Eleanor's mother was a mistress who broke apart the Whitmore family. That Esmeralda had seduced William and given birth to an illegitimate daughter. People had said the only good thing about her death was that she spared Jennifer more suffering.
And the worst part? Eleanor had believed it! Jennifer was her senior, kind and well-liked. Eleanor had resented her own mother, even hated herself for being "the mistress's child."
And there was no one to tell her otherwise.
Only Jeanne and Jennifer were there… always supporting her. Always feeding her lies.
The rumors had begun right after Isabella was fired.
Of course. Jeanne had orchestrated the whole thing. Isabella might have told Eleanor the truth… that Esmeralda was William's wife first. That she wasn't the product of some illegitimate affair. That Jennifer was the outsider, not her.
Most of her school bullies had come from Jennifer's class. It didn't take much effort to guess who started the rumors.
Before the night she overheard them plotting her rape and murder, she had genuinely believed they were her family. Their performance had been so convincing that it could've won Oscars. If she hadn't heard it herself, even a video recording wouldn't have been enough to convince her.
Her stomach churned at the thought.
Eleanor sat in silence for a long while, staring at the polished surface of her desk. Finally, she picked up her phone and dialed a number from memory.
"Hello, Uncle. How's your health?" she asked softly.
A voice came through, aged but warm. "Ah, Eleanor. Still alive and kicking, my girl! It's so good to hear your voice. How've you been?"
"I'm doing well. I've returned to the Kingdom. I want to see you. When would be a good time?"
"You're back?" he said, clearly surprised. "That's wonderful news! Your aunt hasn't been doing well recently. I think it would do her good to see you. Come over anytime."
"Alright. Just don't tell her I'm coming. Don't tell anyone. There might be spies eyeing you." Eleanor smiled gently. "I'll be there in about an hour."
"Got it. I'll be waiting."