Chapter 4 - The Confrontation
By the time Adrienne’s car screeched to a halt on the cobblestone driveway of the estate, the sun was beginning to dip behind the tall pine trees, casting long, dark shadows across the manicured lawn.
He slammed the driver's door shut and strode into the grand foyer.
Vanessa was waiting for him right by the marble staircase. She wore a delicate cardigan, her hair slightly disheveled, looking like a picture of absolute distress.
"Adrienne!" she wailed, throwing her arms around his neck the moment he crossed the threshold. "Thank god you're here. It’s been absolute chaos. Grace has been acting so hostile toward me, and your mother refuses to let me back into her room!"
Adrienne gently pulled her hands off his shoulders, looking into her face with searching eyes. "Where is my mother now?"
"She's upstairs," Vanessa said quickly, clutching his sleeve. "Adrienne, listen to me before you go up there. Your mother is sick, and her mind isn't what it used to be. She's paranoid. She thinks I'm trying to take her place in this house. You have to fire Grace today. She's feeding your mother's delusions!"
"Grace has been with this family for nine years, Vanessa," Adrienne said, his voice flat and unreadable. "She cared for my father before he passed. She doesn't lie."
"People change when money is involved!" Vanessa snapped, her voice tightening with a subtle edge of panic. "She knows if I marry you, things will change around here! She's protecting her easy job!"
"Let me talk to my mother," Adrienne said firmly. He disengaged himself from Vanessa's grip and walked up the grand staircase, his heavy footsteps echoing through the cavernous house.
Vanessa followed close behind, her heels clicking against the steps, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
When Adrienne pushed open the heavy oak door to his mother's bedroom, the room was dimly lit by a single bedside lamp.
Eleanor was lying propped up against her pillows. Her face was pale, drawn with exhaustion and lingering pain. Grace was standing beside the bed, holding a tray of clean bandages and an ice pack.
When Eleanor saw her son walk in, a small, sad smile touched her lips. "Adrienne."
"Mom," Adrienne said, walking quickly to her side and kneeling down by the bed. He took her small, frail hand in his. "What happened here? Are you hurt?"
Before Eleanor could answer, Grace stepped forward, her voice ringing out clearly in the quiet room.
"Mr. Cross," Grace said, looking him straight in the eye. "Your fiancée walked into this room two hours ago, insulted your mother, and deliberately poured a bowl of boiling soup over her chest."
Vanessa let out a dramatic, outraged gasp from the doorway. "That is a disgusting lie! Adrienne, see?! I told you she would make up stories!"
Adrienne didn't look back at Vanessa. He kept his eyes fixed on his mother. Gently, without saying a word, he pulled back the white sheet and lifted the collar of Eleanor's soft cotton gown.
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Beneath it, a wide, raw patch of bright red skin covered Eleanor’s upper chest, severe blisters already forming along the edges, fresh gauze soaked in ointment resting over the worst of the burns.
Adrienne’s entire body went rigid. The color drained from his face until his jaw looked like it was carved from solid marble.
