Chapter 13 - The Husband Who Wasn't My HusbandEleanor stared at the man standing in front of her.
It was Theron's face.
Theron's voice.
Theron's scar near his jaw, the one he had received in a childhood skiing accident.
But the way he stood was different. His shoulders were straighter, his gaze colder, and his expression carried the effortless superiority of a man accustomed to absolute obedience.
Julian kept his gun trained on him.
“Prove it.”
The man smiled.
“Your father once told you that the truth was a weapon. He failed to mention that a weapon is only useful when the person holding it understands what it can destroy.”
Julian's face tightened.
“Charles.”
“Very good.”
Eleanor stepped back.
“No. Charles is dead.”
“Officially.”
“You attended his funeral,” she whispered.
“Someone attended it.”
“Theron was in the hospital after the shooting.”
The man glanced at his bandaged shoulder.
“A minor inconvenience. One of my physicians can reproduce any scar necessary.”
Eleanor felt sick.
“Where is my husband?”
Charles's smile faded.
“Your husband is a complicated question.”
“Where is he?”
“Somewhere he can no longer interfere.”
Julian fired.
Charles moved just enough for the bullet to strike the wall beside him. Before Julian could shoot again, two men rushed into the room and tackled him.
A struggle followed.
Chen drew a weapon, but another man struck him from behind.
Eleanor ran toward Julian.
Someone seized her from behind and pressed a cloth over her mouth. She kicked, twisted, and managed to scratch her captor's face before the world blurred.
The last thing she heard was Charles's voice.
“Take the phone. Leave the pendant.”
When Eleanor regained consciousness, she was strapped to a chair in a brightly lit room.
Catherine sat beside her, pale but alive.
Across the room, Julian was bound to a metal post.
Chen was nowhere to be seen.
Charles stood in front of a wall covered with photographs and documents.
“Welcome back, Eleanor.”
She tried to loosen the restraints.
“Where is Theron?”
Charles sighed.
“You are remarkably persistent about a man who was never worth your devotion.”
“Tell me where he is.”
“Your husband discovered my plans years ago. He attempted to steal the ledger, expose the network, and rescue his brother. Unfortunately, he lacked the courage to finish any of those tasks.”
Eleanor stared at him.
“Then who have I been married to?”
Charles tilted his head.
“My son.”
“Your son is Theron.”
A flicker of irritation crossed his face.
“Theron is one of my sons. The other was better suited to inherit the family business.”
Eleanor's heart sank.
“Adrian.”
“Elliot, actually. But that name is no longer useful.”
The photograph from the old house returned to her mind.
The scar beneath his left eye.
The child who had been placed inside the Ashworth family.
The boy whose existence had been erased.
“You created a second identity for him.”
“I created several. Elliot was the most successful.”
“And you used him to impersonate Theron?”
Charles smiled.
“Only when necessary.”
Eleanor remembered the wedding vows, the anniversary dinners, the years of shared memories.
Was her husband the man she had loved?
Or had someone else occasionally worn his face?
“How long?” she whispered.
“Seven years.”
Her stomach lurched.
“Was Theron ever in my house?”
“Occasionally.”
“Was he the man who married me?”
Charles considered the question.
“Your wedding ceremony was genuine. Your marriage certificate is genuine. Your husband was Theron.”
Eleanor stared at him.
“Then why did you use Elliot?”
“Because Theron became sentimental. He wanted you to inherit the company, and he wanted to rescue Julian. I needed someone willing to make the necessary decisions.”
“You turned my life into a performance.”
“Your life was useful. Your name opened doors, your inheritance purchased access, and your marriage gave us a legitimate claim to the Kingsley assets.”
Charles walked toward her.
“Your father understood the power of a name. It's why he built the debt in the first place.”
“Where is Theron?”
Charles's smile vanished.
“He made a mistake.”
“What mistake?”
“He believed he could betray me and live.”
He placed a photograph on the table.
It showed Theron lying in a hospital bed, surrounded by bloodied sheets.
Eleanor's throat tightened.
“Is he dead?”
“Not yet.”
Julian strained against his restraints.
“You're lying.”
Charles turned toward him.
“Am I?”
“You need him alive to complete the transfer.”
“Correct.”
“So you've kept him alive.”
Charles smiled.
“Perhaps you are not as stupid as your father believed.”
Eleanor looked at Julian.
“Transfer of what?”
“The Kingsley trust,” he replied. “Tomorrow, the assets unlock. Charles needs Eleanor's signature to override the remaining safeguards.”
Charles nodded.
“Your husband was supposed to persuade you. When that failed, Vivienne attempted a more direct approach.”
“You planned the beating.”
“I planned a confrontation. Theron lost control.”
Eleanor's hands shook.
“You made him hit me.”
“No,” Charles said calmly. “Theron made that choice himself.”
For once, Eleanor had no answer.
Charles placed a document before her.
“Sign it, and your mother and brother walk out of here.”
“And if I refuse?”
He nodded toward Julian.
A guard raised a pistol.
Eleanor looked at her brother, then at Catherine.
She thought of every lie that had brought them here.
Every person who had been sacrificed in the name of protection.
Then she picked up the pen.
“Before I sign, I want to know one thing.”
Charles smiled.
“Ask.”
“Why did my father create the Kingsley debt?”
For the first time, his expression became genuinely thoughtful.
“Because he knew I would eventually come for his family.”
Eleanor slowly lowered the pen.
“And what did he make you promise?”
Charles's smile disappeared.
She looked directly into his eyes.
“To protect us?”
A long silence followed.
Then Charles said, “No.”
May you like
He leaned toward her.
“He made me promise to kill you first.”
