Chapter 195

Eleanor's POV

His grip on my arm was the match that ignited everything. The numbness that had been my shield these past weeks shattered, and all my suppressed emotions exploded at once.

"I'll give it to you." My voice rang out, sharp and clear in the dingy motel room. The fever made my head spin, but I forced myself to stay upright.

He laughed, an ugly sound. "Another lying bitch, just like your mother."

"I said, I'll give it to you." Each word was precise, despite the trembling in my limbs.

"Tomorrow," I continued, meeting his bloodshot eyes. "Or you can kill me right here. I'm not going anywhere with you. And if I'm dead, you'll face murder charges and still get nothing."

The silence stretched, heavy with tension. Maya whimpered from somewhere behind me, but I didn't turn. Every ounce of strength I had left was focused on maintaining this facade of control.

Finally, he released my arm. "Tomorrow. Or you'll wish I had killed you."

The door slammed behind him. My legs gave out and I crumpled to the floor, the dirty carpet rough against my palms. Maya's stream of apologies washed over me, but I couldn't respond. Didn't even look at her. The room swayed dangerously, and I focused on simply breathing.

When I woke the next morning, sunlight filtered through the threadbare curtains. The room had been tidied, erasing most evidence of last night's violence. But Maya's bruised face told the story clearly enough.

I watched her move around the small space, noting details I'd been too numb to see before. She couldn't be more than fifty, but stress and hardship had aged her prematurely. Her clothes were cheap but clean, her graying hair pulled back in a neat bun. Everything about her screamed poverty and struggle.

Maya approached cautiously with a bowl of instant oatmeal and a bagel. Usually, I waited until she left to eat the bare minimum needed to survive. But today, something shifted.

I took a spoonful while she watched. Her eyes welled up immediately, and I pretended not to notice.

I stirred the bowl, my voice carefully neutral. "Who is he?"

Maya's hands trembled slightly as she smoothed her faded apron. "My husband. Tom."

"After one night stand with Grant, I was alone with Maeve," Maya wiped her eyes, her hands trembling. "Tom seemed different. A construction worker, honest type. He didn't mind that I had a kid. When I mentioned my savings from the settlement..." She paused, taking a shaky breath. "I should've kept my mouth shut."

My stomach churned. "What happened?"

"He changed the moment he saw that money. Kept pushing me to invest in his 'business ideas.' First it was a food truck, then some crypto scheme. Lost everything, even mortgaged the house. Then..." Maya's voice cracked. "Then came the drugs. Meth. Changed him completely."

I watched her hands grip the cheap plastic tablecloth. The kitchen light made the bruises on her wrists more visible.

"When he's high, he gets violent. Takes whatever money I make cleaning houses. Last week, he showed up at Mrs. Peterson's place where I work, caused a scene. Got fired on the spot. Now I'm scrubbing toilets at the mall for minimum wage..."

"Why don't you just divorce him?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

"He won't let me. Threatens to kill me and Maeve if I try. We've run before - Atlantic City, Philadelphia. He always finds us. The beatings get worse each time." Maya dabbed her eyes with a paper napkin. "Called the cops twice. He did some time, but came back worse. What's six months in jail gonna do?"

"You could leave New York entirely," I suggested. "Go west maybe?"

Maya gave a bitter laugh. "With what money? I barely finished high school. Maeve's got a shot at community college..." She pulled out a crumpled handful of bills from her uniform pocket. "Here, take this. It's all I have, but you need to get out before he shows up looking for money."

I stared at the wadded twenties, my vision blurring. "I don't have anyone else. Not since you changed my life all those years ago."

Back in the tiny bedroom she'd let me use, I finally checked my phone. My Bank of America account - empty. Chase credit card - frozen. PayPal, Cash App, everything - cleared out. Clara Harrington hadn't just cut me off. She'd erased me.

Thirty grand dollars. Once, that was just a number to me. Now it felt like a noose tightening around my neck.

What hurt most wasn't the money. It was how quickly love could turn to nothing. How years of what I thought was family could vanish in an instant, leaving nothing but cold emptiness behind.

I stared at my phone's contact list, each name a lifeline I couldn't bring myself to grab. Lucas, Serena, Quinn, Drew... thirty grand would be pocket change for any of them. But I couldn't bear the thought of them seeing me like this, or worse, getting caught in the crossfire of the Harrington family's wrath.

The screen dimmed, then brightened as I scrolled past their names again. Finally, I tapped Linda's number. My last shred of professional dignity would have to go.

"Eleanor." Her usual warmth was gone. "I was about to call you."

"Linda, I need-"

"It's over, Eleanor. All of it. The endorsements are cancelled. Your upcoming projects are being reshot with AI face replacement. Everything that's already released is being pulled."

"I see." My voice sounded distant, even to myself.

"I'm sorry. There's nothing I can do."

After hanging up, I sat in silence. Then I scrolled to one last name: Garrett Thorne. I hesitated before dialing his number. My hand trembled slightly.

"Garrett?" My voice wavered as he answered.

I barely knew him, really. We'd only met briefly during the Harringtons' gatherings, exchanged some casual messages afterward. Nothing deep. Just another connection in Manhattan's intricate social web.

I chose him because I knew the Thornes wouldn't fear the Harringtons' retaliation. Clara Harrington, despite her likely displeasure, would have to tolerate any help the Thornes offered me.

"What is it?" His tone was detached, clinical.

"Could you... lend me thirty grand?" The words burned my throat. Thirty grand - what used to be pocket change for weekend shopping at Bergdorf's.

"That's not much," he replied coolly, "but I have no reason to lend it to you."

My heart sank. The warmth I'd remembered in Garrett's demeanor had vanished completely.

"My sister mentioned you're no longer a Harrington associate," he continued bluntly.

"No, I'm not." The admission felt like swallowing glass.

"I won't deny I was interested in you before. My grandfather's matchmaking attempts weren't unwelcome - I'd been focused on my career, and you seemed suitable. But everything hinges on social standing. Without your connection to the Harringtons, we're in different leagues now. For me, relationships are built on mutual benefit. Moreover," his voice hardened, "with the Harringtons targeting you, helping you would only complicate things for my sister. I thought you were considerate enough to understand that, Eleanor. This is... disappointing."