For a moment, her chest tightened. Not with fear, but with clarity.
She could have turned away. Pretended not to notice. Played the perfect wife who smiled on cue and ignored the small fissures that sometimes cracked the façade of her marriage. But Eleanor Hayes had never been the type of woman to bury her head in the sand.
She set her glass down carefully on the table.
The sound of it meeting the linen-covered surface was quiet, but in Eleanor’s mind, it was decisive. She moved gracefully across the ballroom floor, her gown swishing softly at her heels. Conversations paused as people watched her glide past. Not because they knew what was happening, but because there was something about Eleanor’s presence—an unshakable confidence that demanded respect.
When she reached Richard, she placed a gentle but deliberate hand on his arm. His smile faltered just slightly when he met her eyes. The consultant shifted back, sensing the shift in energy.
“Darling,” Eleanor said, her voice calm yet edged with unmistakable authority, “I need a word with you.”
Richard cleared his throat. “Of course.” He excused himself politely and followed Eleanor toward a quieter alcove near the balcony.
