CH.2

ELISE

The ride from The Pinnacle to the penthouse is dead silent, except for Natasha's nails tapping away on her phone screen.

I stare out the window, watching Rosienne's lights blur together as tears well up in my eyes.

"Can you stop that?" I mutter, nodding at her fingers.

She doesn't even look up. "Stop what?"

"The tapping. It's driving me crazy."

Natasha  rolls her eyes but stops, then goes back to scrolling silently.

The security team finally let me go back to what used to be my home with Alexander, though they've got some guy stationed in the lobby—"for my protection," they keep saying.

Yeah, right.

"I'll have her stuff sent over to our place," Natasha tells dad, talking about me like I'm not even here. "She shouldn't be alone tonight, but Alexander has to deal with the board meeting... you know, because of everything."

Everything. That's their code word for my public "meltdown"—what they're calling my attempt to expose their lies.

When the elevator doors open, I step into what feels like someone else's apartment now.

The lights dim automatically to the soft glow Alexander always preferred.

I toss my clutch on the marble table by the door and kick off my heels.

"God, that feels better," I whisper, my bare feet hitting the cold floor.

My dress… the one I spent hours picking out for tonight's party now feels like a joke. The outfit I wore to my own public execution.

They gave me back my phone in the car. Not sure if they were being nice or just screwed up.

My hands shake as I pull it out and collapse on the couch.

The second I unlock it, I'm bombarded with missed calls, texts and notifications blowing up my screen.

Natasha's video already has over a hundred thousand views.

I force myself to watch it.

"I'm just so worried about my stepsister," she says with a fake tremor in her voice. "We've all noticed she hasn't been herself lately, but none of us expected... this."

The camera zooms in on my face. My eyes are wild and smudged makeup.

I look completely unhinged. Exactly how they want me to look.

"Alexander's been so patient," Natasha continues, turning the camera on herself.

A single tear slides down her cheek. Oscar-worthy performance. "He's been trying to help her privately, but after tonight... I don't know what happens next."

I shut it off. Can't stomach any more.

My thumb hovers over the comment section. I want to scream the truth but I stop myself. Engaging would just make me look crazier.

A news alert pops up:

"BREAKING NEWS: Alexander Westfield Addresses Wife's Public Outburst."

My stomach drops as I click it. The video starts playing right away.

Alexander’s at a podium, bow tie hanging loose, hair slightly messed up like he rushed there straight from our disaster of a party.

"Thanks for coming on such short notice," he says, sounding so sincere it makes me sick. "By now, most of you have seen how my wife, Elise, had a serious mental health episode during our anniversary tonight."

The camera pans to the reporters, all looking appropriately concerned, before going back to him.

"For months now, Elise has been struggling with fears and beliefs that aren't real. Her doctors… yes, she's been getting help., think it's a combination of pressure from work and some unresolved stuff from her childhood."

My heart pounds in my chest. Doctors? Childhood trauma? These lies sound so real I almost believe them myself.

"Out of respect for her privacy, I won't share her medical details," he continues, pausing dramatically. "But I need to address the accusations she made tonight."

He takes a deep breath, looking right into the camera. "The claims about cover-ups, hidden accounts, and... inappropriate relationships are completely false. There's no evidence because none of it happened."

He says it so smoothly, so convincingly. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I might doubt myself too.

The camera shows the board members standing behind him, all nodding along. My father's there too, looking tired and defeated.

"Starting now, I'll be taking over Elise's responsibilities until she recovers—if her doctors think recovery is possible," Alexander announces.

A reporter stands up. "Mr. Westfield, did your wife accuse you of having a relationship with her stepsister?"

For just a split second, his face tightens before he puts his mask back on.

"Yes, she did," he admits. "But it's just one of her delusions. Natasha has been nothing but supportive through all this. It's been especially hard on her, since she and Elise used to be close."

Another reporter jumps in. "Will Mrs. Westfield be sent to a mental facility?"

"We're looking at all options," Alexander says smoothly. "Right now, we just want to make sure she gets the help she needs."

I turn off my phone. I can't listen to any more of this. They're not just trashing my reputation, they're rewriting my whole reality. Poor unstable Elise, removed from power while her loving husband saves the day.

I catch my reflection in the window. My hair a mess, mascara smudged, shoulders slumped. I look exactly how they want me to look: broken.

My phone buzzes. A text from a number I don't recognize.

(Check your email. Secure channel. —M)

Marcus from IT. My only assistant in this chaos.

A tiny spark of hope flickers to life.

I open my email and find a message with no subject:

"They fired me, but I managed to save some files. Not the video… that was gone before I could grab it. But I've got those safety reports you found and some of the Singapore documents. Not enough to prove the whole conspiracy, still enough to show the danger was real. Laying low for now. I'll reach out when it's safe. Be careful, they're watching everything."

It's not enough to clear my name, but it's something. Proof that at least some of what they're calling my "delusions" were actually real.

Before I can reply, another notification pops up. A message from Alexander:

(Coming home to talk. Dr. Mercer is with me. Don't fight this, Elise. We can do this quietly if you cooperate.)

Dr. Mercer. The psychiatrist who's supposedly been treating me. A man I've never even met until tonight.

Everything clicks into place. They're not just trying to ruin my reputation. They're trying to lock me away.

I check the time. Twenty minutes before they get here.

Twenty minutes to decide whether to stay and face whatever they've planned... or run.

I rush to the bedroom, yanking off my gown and pulling on jeans and a sweater. I grab a small bag and stuff it with essentials—cash from my jewelry box, a change of clothes, my passport. If I leave now, I might have a chance.

My phone buzzes with another news alert.

"Blackwood Medical Technologies Stock Recovers After CEO Change; Experts Praise Alexander Westfield's Quick Action."

Then a social media notification. Natasha 's latest post:

"Thank you all for your support. Alexander is with the doctors now, getting Elise the help she needs. Please keep us in your thoughts. #MentalHealthAwareness #FamilyFirst."

Thousands of likes. Hundreds of sympathetic comments. She plays her part perfectly: the concerned stepsister, the worried family member while cementing the story that I'm losing my mind.

I know I can't wait for Alexander to come back with his pet doctor. I need to go to the one person who might still listen—my father.

The night air hits me like a slap when I step outside, my thin sweater doing nothing against the cold. I managed to slip past the guard in the lobby when he was distracted by a delivery.

I left my phone behind. they'd just use it to track me. The cash I grabbed should be enough for a cab to my father's estate.

I wave frantically at a passing yellow cab, relief washing over me when it pulls over. The driver eyes me suspiciously through the window.

"Blackwood Estate, Upper East Side," I tell him, gripping my cash tightly.

"Upper East Side? This late?" He raises an eyebrow.

"It's important. Family emergency." I try to keep my voice steady.

He hesitates before nodding. "Alright, hop in."

I sink into the backseat, exhaustion hitting me now that the adrenaline is wearing off.

The driver glances at me in the rearview mirror. "You okay back there?"

"I'm fine," I say automatically.

Nothing about this situation is fine.

A moment later, his expression changes. "Wait a minute... aren't you that Blackwood woman? From the news tonight?"

My heart skips a beat. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He shrugs. "Hey, no judgment. My sister's got issues too. Sometimes the brain just... you know... sees things that aren't there."

I bite my tongue. Let him think whatever he wants. The only thing that matters is getting to my father before Alexander realizes I'm gone.

After what feels like forever, the familiar iron gates of the Blackwood estate come into view. I pay the driver and wait for his car to disappear before approaching the intercom.

My finger hovers over the button. What if Dad's already chosen Alexander's side? What if this is just walking into another trap?

No. I need answers, and Henry Blackwood is the only one who can give them to me.

I press the button.

"Blackwood residence." A voice crackles through the speaker.

"It's Elise. I need to see my father."

There's a long pause before I hear, "Mrs. Westfield? One moment, please."

The wait feels endless before the gates finally swing open.

I walk up the long driveway, gravel crunching under my shoes. Most of the house is dark except for the warm light coming from Dad's study.

The front door opens before I reach it. George, our butler since I was a kid, stands there looking surprised to see me.

"Mrs. Westfield. We weren't expecting you tonight."

"Is my father in his study?" I ask, trying to sound calmer than I feel.

"He is. This way, please."

I follow George through the familiar hallways, past rooms filled with memories of business meetings and family gatherings, until we reach the heavy oak door of Dad's private sanctuary.

George knocks once. "You can go in, Mrs. Westfield."

Dad stands by the fireplace, nursing a glass of scotch.

He looks every bit the powerful family patriarch in his cashmere sweater and pressed pants. The firelight catches the silver in his hair as he turns to face me.

"Elise." His voice gives nothing away.

"Does Alexander know you're here?" he asks immediately.

"No." I shut the door behind me. "And I'd rather you didn't tell him."

Dad sighs and points to a leather chair. "Sit down. You look exhausted."

I stay standing. "I didn't come for small talk, Dad. I need the truth."

"About what?" He takes a sip of his drink, watching me carefully.

"About why my own father is taking Alexander and Natasha 's side. Why you're letting them destroy everything I've worked for."

Dad walks to his desk and sets his glass down with a soft clink.

"That's a serious accusation, Elise. Nobody's destroying anything. The board made a decision based on what you did—"

"What I did?" I let out a sharp laugh. "You mean when I caught my husband and stepsister covering up dangerous product flaws? When I tried to expose them?"

"What I saw was my daughter losing it in public, throwing around accusations with zero proof, and damaging the company's reputation." His voice turns cold.

"I had proof!" My voice rises despite my efforts to stay calm.

"They erased it all. They wiped my phone, deleted the backups, everything. They were ready, Dad. This wasn't some last-minute cover-up. They've been planning this for months."

Dad shakes his head in that dismissive way I know too well. He's done it my whole life whenever I tried to contribute ideas about the company. It means he's humoring me but not really listening.

"Listen to yourself, Elise. Conspiracies. Missing evidence. Secret plots. Do you hear how this sounds?"

"It sounds like the truth." I step closer, putting my hands on his desk. "Why is it so hard for you to believe me? Why do you always trust Natasha over me?"

Something shifts in Dad's expression. discomfort, maybe guilt. He turns away from me to face the fireplace. "This isn't about taking sides."

"It has always been about sides." Years of frustration pour out of me. "From the moment Sophia and Natasha moved in, you treated her better. Her ideas mattered. Her opinions counted. I had to fight for every scrap of your approval."

"That's not true."

"It is! You gave Natasha a board seat right after business school. I had to start at the bottom, even with the family name."

"I was preparing you," Dad says defensively. "Making sure people respected you for your work, not just your last name."

"And Natasha? Why did she get everything handed to her?"

His jaw tightens. "I wanted her to feel like part of the family. To bring us together."

"By favoring her over your own daughter?" I can hardly believe what I'm hearing. "And now you're doing it again. Choosing her and Alexander over me."

"Alexander has been good for this company. For this family." Dad's voice hardens. "He stepped in when we needed him most."

"This is about money, isn't it?" I study his face, catching that flicker of truth before he can hide it. "That's it, isn't it? You needed help, and Alexander's family had the cash. What was the price, Dad?"

Dad finishes his drink and puts the empty glass down with a thud. "You have no idea how bad things were. After the financial crash, we were weeks away from losing everything. The Westfields saved us."

"And what did they want in return? Me?"

His silence tells me everything. My stomach drops.

"Oh my God." My voice is barely a whisper. "You arranged my marriage. You traded me to save the company."

Dad stiffens. "It wasn't like that. The idea came from Alexander's father. An old-fashioned arrangement, but it worked. Their family got the Blackwood name, and we got the money we needed."

"And no one thought I should know? You let me believe Alexander actually wanted me, not just my last name and my shares?"

"He did care about you," Dad says, not meeting my eyes. "The deal was between families, but his feelings were real."

I laugh bitterly.

"Right. That's why I found him with Natasha tonight."

"You misunderstood—"

"Don't!" I hold up my hand to stop him. "I know exactly what I saw. What I don't get is why he picked me if he wanted Natasha all along."

Dad turns away, pouring himself another drink. "The deal required a true Blackwood. Natasha didn’t count."

The words hit me like a slap. "So I was the only option. The only one who fit the requirements."

"Elise, it wasn't like that."

"Then tell me how it was, Dad. Explain how you used me like a bargaining chip."

Dad sits down, suddenly looking much older than before.

"We were desperate. The deal saved the company and secured your future."

"My future?" I laugh hollowly and stand up, feeling strangely calm.

"I need to know one thing. Are you with them, or with me?"