The black Bentley waiting outside the office building wasn't Hart's.
Eunice stopped on the sidewalk, clutching her bag. The tinted window rolled down, revealing a stern-faced driver in a uniform that looked more expensive than her entire wardrobe.
"Miss Vance?" the driver asked. "Madam Matthew requests your presence for tea."
It wasn't a question. It was a summons.
Eunice's stomach churned. Madam Matthew. Hart's grandmother. The matriarch of the family. The woman who had "arranged" his marriage to Vanessa.
"I have work to finish," Eunice said, her voice trembling slightly.
"The Madam does not like to wait," the driver stated, opening the rear door. "And Mr. Matthew is currently in a meeting with the Board. He cannot help you."
Eunice swallowed hard. She had no choice. If she refused, she would likely be fired before she even got home. She climbed into the car.
The drive to the Matthew Estate took forty minutes. They left the city center and drove up winding roads to the exclusive hills where the billionaires lived. The estate was terrifyingly grand—a sprawling mansion behind iron gates, surrounded by manicured gardens that looked like they hadn't seen a weed in a century.
Eunice was ushered into a glass conservatory filled with orchids. The air was thick with the scent of flowers—too sweet, almost suffocating.
Sitting at a small white iron table was an elderly woman. She was tiny, dressed in a sharp Chanel suit, with silver hair pulled back into a severe bun. Her eyes were the same dark, piercing shade as Hart's, but without any of the warmth he sometimes showed.
"Sit," Madam Matthew commanded, gesturing to the chair opposite her. She didn't look up from her porcelain teacup.
Eunice sat, placing her bag on her lap to hide her stomach. "Good afternoon, Madam Matthew."
"You are younger than I expected," the old woman observed, finally looking at her. Her gaze was like a laser, dissecting Eunice's cheap blouse, her scuffed shoes, her nervous hands. "And prettier. I can see why my grandson is… distracted."
"I am his Lead Analyst, ma'am," Eunice said firmly. "I am not a distraction."
Madam Matthew let out a dry, humorless laugh. She placed her cup down with a sharp clink.
"Please, Miss Vance. I have been running this family for fifty years. I know a gold digger when I see one."
She reached into her purse and pulled out a checkbook. She uncapped a gold pen and scribbled something quickly. She tore the check out and slid it across the table.
Eunice looked down. The number had six zeros. It was enough money to pay off her debts, buy a house, and raise the twins in comfort.
"Five million," Madam Matthew stated. "Tax-free. In exchange, you resign today. You leave the city. And you never speak to Hart Matthew again."
Eunice stared at the check. Her hand hovered over it. For a split second, she considered it. She could run. She could be safe. She could protect her babies from this toxic world.
But then she thought of Hart. She thought of his insomnia. She thought of the way he had eaten burnt toast just to make her smile.
If she took this money, she was confirming everything they thought about her. That she was just a greedy, poor girl.
Eunice picked up the check.
"Well?" Madam Matthew raised an eyebrow. "Is it enough?"
Eunice tore the check in half. Then in half again.
She placed the pieces gently on the table.
"I am not for sale, Madam," Eunice said, her voice shaking but clear. "And neither is your grandson. I work for my money. I don't take bribes."
Silence stretched between them. The air in the conservatory seemed to drop ten degrees.
Madam Matthew's eyes narrowed. She didn't look angry. She looked… amused. Like a cat playing with a mouse that just tried to fight back.
"Brave," Madam Matthew murmured. "Or stupid."
The butler appeared with a fresh pot of tea. "Earl Grey, Madam?"
"Pour for Miss Vance," Madam ordered.
The butler poured the steaming, dark liquid into a cup in front of Eunice. The smell of bergamot was strong and pungent.
Eunice's pregnancy-heightened senses revolted instantly. The smell hit her like a punch to the gut. Bile rose in her throat.
She clamped a hand over her mouth, turning her head away.
"No," she gasped. "Please. Take it away."
Madam Matthew paused, her cup halfway to her lips. She watched Eunice's reaction closely. The sudden nausea. The hand over the mouth. The defensive posture.
Slowly, a look of realization dawned on the old woman's face.
"You're not just a mistress," Madam Matthew whispered, her voice dangerously soft. "You're… expecting."
Eunice froze.
"I..." Eunice tried to speak, but panic choked her.
Madam Matthew set her cup down. She leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with a terrifying new interest.
"Is it Hart's?"
Eunice stood up, knocking her chair back. "I have to go."
"Sit down!" Madam Matthew barked, slamming her hand on the table. "If you walk out that door, I will ruin you. I will make sure you never work in this city again. Is. It. Hart's?"
Eunice gripped her bag, backing away.
"It's none of your business," Eunice cried.
She turned and ran. She ran through the conservatory, past the startled butler, and out the front door. She didn't stop until she was halfway down the driveway, gasping for air, her heart pounding against her ribs.
She had escaped.
But as she looked back at the imposing mansion on the hill, she knew the truth.
Madam Matthew knew. And now, the real war had begun.