Chapter 3 - The Socialite’s Nightmare
Before Steven could choke out another plea, the heavy iron gates at the end of the driveway swung open, and the first wave of high-society guests began rolling up the paved incline. A sleek silver Bentley crept smoothly around the circular fountain, bringing Victoria’s mother, Eleanor Vance-Smythe, straight into the eye of the storm. Eleanor stepped out of the vehicle, draped in a floor-length mink coat despite the mild autumn drizzle, her face set in the haughty, untouchable expression of a woman who measured human worth strictly by bank account balances and lineage.
"Victoria, darling!" Eleanor called out, her voice dripping with practiced warmth as she glided toward the front steps. "The floral arrangements at the gate are simply divine! But why on earth are there county sheriff cruisers parked by the hydrangeas? It looks like a common crime scene out here."
Eleanor stopped dead at the top of the porch steps as she finally took in the tableau before her: Steven looking like a cornered animal, Victoria on the verge of a complete hysterical breakdown, and Betty Morrison standing calmly in the center of the foyer with an attorney and two armed court officers standing guard behind her.
"What is the meaning of this?" Eleanor snapped, her aristocratic composure cracking instantly as she pointed a manicured finger directly at Betty. "Who invited this woman here? Victoria, I thought we agreed that this commoner was to remain strictly out of sight today to protect Leo's social environment!"
Victoria rushed toward her mother, practically sobbing as she clung to the older woman’s mink sleeve. "Mother! She’s gone completely insane! She brought a lawyer and police officers, and she’s claiming she owns the house and trying to throw us out on the street!"
Eleanor let out a sharp, dismissive snort, turning her icy gaze upon Betty with a look of pure, unadulterated disgust. "Own the house? Don't be absurd. Everyone in our circle knows Steven bought this estate when his startup went public. My daughter brought prestige, bloodline, and high-society connections to this marriage, while this woman probably spent her entire life scrubbing floors in some dreary provincial town. You have no business here, woman. Turn around, take your ambulance-chasing lawyer, and get off this property before I have my husband’s security team bodily remove you."
Betty didn't flinch. In fact, a cold, dangerous smile touched the corners of her lips. She stepped forward, standing toe-to-toe with Eleanor on the expansive marble porch, towering over her with an aura of absolute power that made the veteran socialite instinctively take half a step backward.
"You talk about bloodlines and prestige, Eleanor," Betty said softly, her voice carrying an authority that silenced every whispered conversation among the arriving guests standing frozen near their cars. "Let me educate you on a little reality. Six years ago, your precious son-in-law walked into my kitchen with tears streaming down his face, holding a stack of foreclosure notices and federal tax liens totaling eight million dollars. His brilliant startup had completely collapsed, his business partners had fled the country, and he was two days away from being dragged out of a studio apartment in handcuffs for wire fraud."
Steven let out a choked sob, burying his face in his hands. "Mom... please, stop."
"Shut up, Steven, you had your turn to speak," Betty commanded without looking back. She turned her intense gaze back to Eleanor, whose face had gone from haughty arrogance to a sickly, pasty white. "I liquidated every single asset I owned. I sold my family home, I cashed out my retirement accounts, and I paid every single cent of his debt out of my own pocket. And then, I bought this very house under a silent corporate trust, letting him play the billionaire entrepreneur just so your precious family would deign to let him marry your daughter."
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Eleanor’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. Her eyes darted frantically toward Steven, searching for a denial, a lie, anything to salvage her dignity. But Steven’s absolute silence was all the confirmation the courtyard needed.
"So no, Eleanor," Betty finished, her voice ringing like a bell across the quiet morning air. "I am not a commoner crashing a party. I am the sole owner of this estate, and right now, I am serving eviction notices to every single freeloader standing under this roof."
