Chapter 2 - The Deed To The Only Home I Know
June’s hands trembled, but her voice remained perfectly steady.
She pulled a folded, heavy-stock document from the bottom of her worn leather purse and placed it on the pristine white tablecloth, right next to the brass dinner bell.
“She threatened to take my house, Adrian.”
The dining room plunged into absolute silence.
Adrian stared at the document. It was a foreclosure notice.
“Your mother left me that little cottage in Evanston,” June said softly, her eyes filling with tears she refused to let fall. “I’ve lived there for thirty years. But the property taxes… I fell behind. I took out a loan.”
Adrian’s jaw tightened. He picked up the paper.
“The bank sold my debt,” June continued. “To a private holding company.”
Adrian looked up, his dark eyes locking onto his fiancée. “A company registered in your maiden name, Celeste.”
Celeste’s emerald dress suddenly looked too heavy for her. She took a step back, her hands raised defensively.
“Adrian, you have to understand,” she said, her voice dropping to an urgent whisper. “She’s a liability. You’re stepping into legitimate business now. You’re running for the city council. You can’t have the woman who scrubbed your floors acting like your surrogate mother in front of the press!”
“So you bought her debt?” Adrian’s voice was dangerously low. It wasn’t a yell; it was the quiet rumble before an earthquake. “To blackmail an eighty-year-old woman?”
“I offered to relocate her!” Celeste pleaded, looking around the room at the silent, stunned guests. “To a beautiful retirement community in Florida. All expenses paid. I just needed her out of Chicago. Out of our lives.”
I stood near the serving doors, clutching my tray so tightly my knuckles ached. I had seen Celeste be dismissive, even cruel, but this was systematic destruction.
“You didn’t offer,” June corrected gently. “You told me if I ever spoke to Adrian again, you would foreclose on the cottage and leave me on the street.”
Adrian didn’t scream. He didn’t throw his champagne glass.
Instead, he took off his suit jacket and draped it gently over June’s frail shoulders.
Then he turned to the two men standing by the fireplace—his personal security.
“Marcus. David.”
The men straightened immediately.
“Escort Ms. Harrington to the guest wing,” Adrian ordered. “She has one hour to pack her things. The wedding is off.”
Gasps rippled through the room.
Celeste’s face contorted in shock. “You’re calling off a fifty-million-dollar merger… over a housekeeper?”
“She isn’t a housekeeper,” Adrian said, his voice echoing off the crystal chandeliers. “She is family.”
Celeste’s eyes narrowed into slits. The panic vanished, replaced by a cold, venomous glare.
“You think you know everything about this sweet old woman?” Celeste sneered, snatching her clutch from the table. “You think she’s just an innocent victim?”
Adrian stepped between Celeste and June. “Leave. Now.”
“Ask her about the boy, Adrian,” Celeste said, her voice dripping with poison.
Adrian froze.
June let out a tiny, stifled gasp, her hand flying to her mouth.
I watched as Celeste smiled—a sharp, triumphant look.
“That’s right,” Celeste said. “I had my investigators look into her. I wanted to know exactly who I was dealing with.”
She reached into her clutch and pulled out a faded polaroid photograph, tossing it onto the table.
It landed face up.
It was a picture of a little boy, maybe six years old, with dark hair and striking gray eyes.
Adrian’s breath hitched. He reached for the photo.
May you like
“Who is this?” he demanded.
Celeste laughed bitterly. “Why don’t you ask Aunt June who she’s been hiding in that little cottage you love so much?”
