Chapter 47

The slap echoed through the room like a gunshot.

"Not only have you humiliated him, but you've also torn us apart!"

Eleanor's voice was razor-sharp, her eyes blazing with fury.

Vanessa barely had time to register the words before the second strike landed, sending her stumbling back.

Her cheek burned, the skin already swelling beneath Eleanor's perfectly manicured fingers.

Vanessa had always known Eleanor despised her.

The woman was the epitome of old-money elegance—cold, poised, and utterly untouchable.

She had expected disdain, perhaps a cutting remark or two.

But this?

This was raw, unfiltered rage.

Eleanor's chest heaved, her breath coming in short, furious bursts.

The sight of Vanessa—her perfectly styled hair, her designer dress—only fueled the fire.

How dare she?

Eleanor's thoughts were a whirlwind of indignation.

Who does she think she is, standing there as if she belongs?

Vanessa pressed a trembling hand to her stinging cheek, her mind racing.

This wasn't just anger.

This was war.

Vanessa's pathetic little schemes were laughably obvious to Eleanor.

She'd spent decades fending off gold-diggers like Vanessa who circled around her husband Vincent like vultures.

Eleanor had clawed her way to the top of high society, shielding Vincent from opportunistic women with razor-sharp precision.

Just when she thought the battle was won, here came another social climber—this time targeting her son Ethan.

Eleanor Whitmore wasn't one to tolerate disrespect.

The sight of Vanessa's smug face triggered memories of Ethan's recent defiance.

For years, Ethan had been the perfect son—obedient, respectful, malleable. Until this red-haired schemer slithered into their lives.

Without consulting her, he'd broken off his engagement to Evelyn and publicly claimed Vanessa instead.

Worse—she'd learned about it through society gossip like some common bystander.

The thought of this manipulative tart stealing her son ignited white-hot fury in Eleanor's veins.

Her manicured fingers twitched with the urge to wipe that fake innocence off Vanessa's face. Permanently.

The sunlight streaming through the windows did nothing to soften the tension in the room.

Eleanor Whitmore wasn’t fooled. She had lived long enough to recognize ambition disguised as love.

Was Vanessa Hart truly devoted to Ethan, or was it the Caldwell name she coveted?

The cold calculation in Vanessa’s eyes was unmistakable—nothing like Evelyn Carter’s sincerity when she looked at Alexander.

"Gold-digging tramp!" Eleanor’s voice cut through the air like a whip. "You think you deserve my son? You’re not even worthy to polish his shoes!"

Ignoring the shocked gasps from the Whitmore relatives, Eleanor lunged forward.

Her palm connected with Vanessa’s cheek in a sharp crack.

"You think you can just waltz in here and become a Caldwell? Who the hell do you think you are?"

Before anyone could intervene, Eleanor had Vanessa pinned to the ground, raining down blows.

Vanessa hadn’t seen this coming.

She had arrived at Whitmore Manor confident, ready to charm the family and secure her engagement to Ethan.

But now, under Eleanor’s assault, she couldn’t fight back—not against the matriarch.

Grace Caldwell joined in, her manicured nails scratching at Vanessa’s arms.

Vanessa writhed, pain radiating through her body, but there was no escape.

Her lips parted in a silent scream.

Vanessa's scream for help pierced through the hospital room.

Ethan's eyes snapped open at the commotion. He lunged from the bed, pulling Grace and Eleanor away from Vanessa with desperate strength.

"Stop this! Enough!"

His sudden movement sent Eleanor staggering back, nearly toppling over. Grace caught her just in time, steadying her mother.

"Vanessa didn’t do anything wrong!" Ethan's voice was sharp, his jaw clenched. "Mom, look at yourself—this isn’t you!"

Eleanor’s face twisted in fury as she saw her son shielding Vanessa. "You’re defending her?"

Ethan’s pulse pounded in his temples. He motioned for Vanessa to step behind him. "My injuries have nothing to do with Vanessa. I was the one who announced the engagement."

Vanessa’s hair was disheveled, her cheeks streaked with angry red marks. A thin trail of blood trickled from her lip.

She looked broken.

But in front of the Caldwells, she refused to let a single tear fall. Crying would only make things worse. So she kept her head down, trying to disappear into the shadows.

The air crackled with tension as Eleanor's laughter turned sharp and bitter. "So you're defending her now?" Her voice trembled with barely contained rage. "Ethan, do I even exist to you anymore?"

Before anyone could react, Eleanor lunged forward, her fingers twisting into Vanessa's hair with vicious intent. She yanked hard, dragging her toward the door.

Vanessa gasped, her hands flying up instinctively to protect her scalp. The pain was sharp, immediate.

Ethan moved like lightning, his body blocking Eleanor's path. "Mother, stop!" His voice was firm, but his eyes betrayed his conflict.

Eleanor's grip only tightened. "You think you can shield her from this?" Her words were laced with venom. "After everything she's done?"

Vanessa stumbled, her balance lost as Eleanor pulled again. The room spun—faces blurred—anger and humiliation burned through her.

Then, without warning, Eleanor's free hand swung.

A sharp crack echoed.

Vanessa's cheek stung, the force snapping her head to the side.

Silence fell.

Ethan's breath hitched. His mother had never been violent—not like this.

Eleanor's chest heaved, her fingers still tangled in Vanessa's hair. "This isn't over," she hissed.

Vanessa lifted her chin, defiance flashing in her eyes despite the throbbing pain. "Then finish it."

The challenge hung in the air, heavy and dangerous.

Eleanor's lips curled.

And she raised her hand again.