Arthur was out. The house was quiet. Helen was polishing silverware for an important dinner Arthur was planning. The sliding doors to the library were slightly open.
Vanessa walked in, arguing on the phone.
“I told you not to call me now,” she whispered sharply.
“No, stop threatening me. Everything is on this phone. The messages. The bank transfers. The mechanic’s falsified report.”
Helen froze.
Then Vanessa said, calmly:
“Yes. The car worked perfectly. Poor Emily… always so trusting.”
Helen’s blood turned to ice.
The accident hadn’t been an accident.
Vanessa laughed quietly.
“When I marry Arthur, I’ll have full control of everything. And the kid? He’s next. You can’t run an empire with a broken heir.”
Helen nearly collapsed.
That night, Arthur announced the engagement dinner.
Helen knew time had run out.
She called Arthur, her voice shaking, and begged him to come home—quietly. To enter through the garden gate. To watch.
Arthur arrived in minutes.
Hidden behind ivy-covered columns, he watched as Vanessa screamed at Helen for spilling lemonade—then turned her rage on Leo.
“Stop crying!” Vanessa snapped.
“I’m sick of pretending I care. You’re pathetic. A useless obstacle.”