The Matriarch Arrives
Eleanor Hart entered the room as though the entire building belonged to her.
Seventy-six years old.
Silver hair styled perfectly.
Posture sharp enough to feel like a verdict.
She had once been married to the founder who turned a modest hotel chain into a massive empire spanning real estate, technology, and finance.
Her eyes swept across the table, the china, the seating arrangement.
Then she checked her watch.
“Let me guess. My son will be late to his own event again.”
“He had a last-minute meeting,” Rebecca replied, composed as always.
Eleanor made a dry sound that nearly resembled a laugh.
“His father was never late. Punctuality is respect.”
She leaned closer, lowering her voice.
“You allow him too much.”
Rebecca met her gaze without blinking.
“In some theaters, Eleanor, the actor thinks he runs the stage… until the lights come up.”
Eleanor studied her silently for a long moment.
Then, unexpectedly, she reached out and squeezed Rebecca’s hand.
“Truly,” she murmured. “Truly.”
