<b>Chapter </b><b>5 </b>
Marcia’s face went rigid in an instant.
She stared out at the familiar car pulling up outside, panic welling up inside her.
Her carefully lined eyes shot daggers at Elissa. “You did this on purpose, didn’t you? This was your n all along, wasn’t it?!”
“Sister–inw, what are you talking about? I was just upstairs putting together a gift for Frank. How can you me me for this…” Elissa’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears, looking every bit the picture of wounded innocence.
It was obvious she felt deeply wronged.
Quentin, the Spencer family’s butler, walked in just in time to witness the tense scene. His gaze swept over the living room, which was inplete disarray, and his frown deepened as he turned to Marcia.
“Mrs. Spencer, the matriarch asked me to deliver a message. Since she failed to properly guide her grandson, she’ll have to start with you instead.”
Marcia’s lips parted slightly. “What?”
Quentin gestured toward the door with polite firmness. “She asks that you go out to the courtyard and kneel for three hours.”
“Quentin-” Elissa started, but Quentin cut her off with gentle authority. “Mrs. Frank, there’s <i>no </i>need to plead. You’ve had a hard time with the funeral arrangements for the master recently. Please take care of your health.”
young
Elissa fell silent, but not because she’d been about to plead for Marcia. She’d only wanted to ask if the olddy’s health had improved–she needed to pick the right time to bring up
the divorce.
No matter who managed Atwater Group, the family’s private matters were always decided by the matriarch at the old estate.
<i>So </i>even if Marcia was seething inside, she had no choice but to step outside and kneel in the freezing cold.
Honestly, she deserved it.
Elissa didn’t spare her so much as a nce as she turned to head upstairs.
Edna hesitated awkwardly. “Ma’am, what about that painting?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Elissa replied coolly. “Someone wille by to collect it. Once it’s restored, it’ll be brought back.”
13:28
She wasn’t about to tell anyone that the painting hanging on the wall was a fake. The real one was safely disyed at a friend’s gallery, untouched and pristine.
After all, the old man’s biggest wish before he died was for his artwork to be seen by more people. Letting it gather dust at home would have been a waste.
Just as Elissa put her foot on the stairs, Hickey snapped, “You wicked woman!”
His voice shook with anger. “I already called my uncle. When he gets back, you’re finished!”
“I’ll be waiting,” Elissa answered evenly.
“He’s going to divorce you! You’ll be nothing but a washed–up castoff–nobody will ever want you!”
Elissaughed softly. “He won’t listen to you.”
Frank and Marcia still needed her as their cover. The moment the marriage ended, the two of them–an unmarried man and a widowed woman–would be living under the same
roof.
Marcia’s reputation would be ruined for good.
Frank would never let that happen.
Frank returned far sooner than expected.
Marcia had barely been kneeling outside for twenty minutes when he arrived.
He strode up the walk, tall and imposing in a ck wool coat, the picture of calm authority. The moment he stepped out of the car, he rushed to Marcia’s side, scooping her up and carrying her straight into the house.
He set her gently on the couch and, without hesitation, began tending to her frostbitten knees, the worry in his eyes impossible <i>to </i>hide. “Are you out of your mind? You just do whatever you’re told–even this?”
“Grandma gave the order. What choice did I have?” Marcia’s fingers clung to his sleeve. Her eyes were red, her voice trembling. “Frankie, can’t you please just divorce her? She’s terrifying…”
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