She never rang the bell twice. In the Cross family mansion, sitting behind massive wrought-iron gates in the quiet hills outside

Grace hesitated by the foot of the bed, her hands clutching her clean linen apron. She knew the temperature of that soup—she had just ladled it from the stove top moments ago, steam rising thick and hot off the broth.

"Miss Sterling," Grace said softly, keeping her tone respectful. "Mrs. Cross's stomach is still sensitive from her pain medication. She needs a few minutes to sit up before—"

"I didn't ask for your medical opinion, Grace," Vanessa snapped, turning her head with an icy glare. "I am going to be the mistress of this house in less than three weeks. When I tell you to leave a room, you leave."

Eleanor raised a weak hand from under the comforter, giving Grace a subtle, reassuring nod. "It's alright, Grace. Go check on Leo's school pack. I'll be fine."

Grace swallowed hard, her heart heavy with anxiety. She cast one last worried look at Eleanor before quietly slipping out the door, leaving it open just a crack as she stepped down the carpeted hallway.

Inside the bedroom, Vanessa carried the bowl over to the nightstand, setting it down with a sharp, heavy thud. She folded her arms across her chest, staring down at the bedridden woman.

"You're making things very difficult for me, Eleanor," Vanessa said, dropping the sweet, gentle act she usually performed when Adrienne was around.

Eleanor shifted slightly, her spine aching under the thin mattress. "I haven't said a word to you today, Vanessa."

"You don't have to say anything!" Vanessa’s voice rose, sharp and bitter. "The way you look at me. The way you talk to Adrienne about my family's foundation. You're trying to ruin this wedding. You think I don't see what you're doing? You want him to marry some quiet, submissive nobody who'll bow down to your old-fashioned rules!"

Eleanor looked up at her, her grey eyes remarkably calm despite her physical frailty. "I only want my son to marry someone who loves him for who he is, Vanessa. Not for the name on his buildling, and certainly not for his bank account."

Vanessa's face twisted with rage. The accusation struck at the exact nerve she had been trying to hide for eighteen months.

"How dare you," Vanessa hissed. "I have given up my career for him! I have built his social standing in New York! I deserve to be here!"

"You deserve what you earn," Eleanor said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "And respect is not something you can buy with Adrienne's credit card."

That was the breaking point.

Vanessa grabbed the heavy porcelain bowl from the nightstand. The broth was still steaming, sending off heat that singed the air. Without a second thought, driven by a surge of unhinged humiliation and spite, Vanessa tilted her wrist and poured the hot chicken soup directly onto Eleanor's chest.

Eleanor let out a sharp, breathless gasp of agony as the boiling broth soaked through her cotton nightgown, scalding her fragile skin.

"Oops," Vanessa sneered, tossing the empty bowl onto the rug. "Looks like you're as clumsy as you are old."

Outside in the hall, Grace heard the gasp. She didn't knock. She burst through the door, her eyes widening in horror as she saw Eleanor clutching her burned chest, tears streaming down her pale face, while Vanessa stood over her with a cold, triumphant smile.

"What did you do?!" Grace screamed, running to the bed.

"Watch your tongue, maid!" Vanessa warned, stepping back. "She dropped it herself!"

Grace ignored her completely. She grabbed a towel from the bathroom, soaked it in cold water, and gently pressed it against Eleanor's red, blistering skin, her own body shaking with fury.

Eleanor held onto Grace's forearm, her fingers trembling violently. "Grace..." she sobbed softly. "It hurts..."