Rebirth of The Forsaken Heiress

The only sound in the grand dining room was the clink of Sebastian’s wine glass on the polished oak table. He set it down. The noise was sharp in the suffocating silence.

Eleanor watched him from the other end of the table, but the space between them felt like miles.

"Happy anniversary," she said with a clear and steady voice.

Sebastian’s eyes met hers. They were flat, empty of the warmth she remembered. He gave a slight nod, a gesture devoid of meaning, and raised his glass an inch off the table before setting it back down.

He didn't say it back.

The silence that followed was worse than before.

"You insisted on this dinner, Sebastian," Eleanor said, breaking it again. "Yet you're saying nothing..."

"I guess I am," he replied.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Sebastian looked at Eleanor directly, with no hesitation.

"Eleanor, I want a divorce."

The words hung in the air. Eleanor’s carefully constructed composure felt as fragile as the glass she was holding.

"You choose our anniversary to tell me you want a divorce?"

"Pretending any longer felt useless."

Eleanor's grip tightened on the stem of her wine glass. "Useless? You’ve been cold for months, Sebastian. Why are you suddenly bringing up divorce? After five years, you simply decide it's over? Just like that?"

"This marriage was a contract, Eleanor. Yo were lonely after being a widow. I took your name for my life's stability. It was a good arrangement, but the terms are no longer favorable."

"I was your wife!" Eleanor snapped as her voice finally cracked.

"You were a partner," Sebastian corrected. "And now I'm ending the partnership."

"Why?" she demanded. "Why now?"

"Jane is pregnant."

The name hit her like a physical blow. Jane Thorne. The butler’s daughter. The girl who had always been there, quiet and observant, in the background of her entire life. A cold dread, sharp and sudden, pierced through Eleanor’s shock. It wasn’t just emotional. It was a physical sensation, a deep chill spreading from her core into her limbs.

"You had an affair?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

He didn't have to answer.

"With Jane?" Eleanor’s voice was filled with a lifetime of aristocratic disdain. "After everything my family did for her, after I—"

"This was not her fault," Sebastian cut in, his voice hard. "This was my decision."

Suddenly, a wave of dizziness washed over Eleanor. The candles on the table blurred into streaks of light. Her stomach turned, and the single sip of wine she’d taken earlier left a foul, metallic taste in her mouth. Her gaze dropped to her glass, still nearly full. Then Eleanor looked at Sebastian's glass.

He'd barely touched it.

Eleanor's blood ran cold. The numbness in her fingers wasn't from shock. It was real.

"No," she breathed, staring at him with evident horror. "You didn't."

Sebastian's expression remained unchanged. He shifted and fixed his posture.

"You would never have agreed to a divorce. Not a quiet one. You would have fought me in the courts and in the papers. You would have tried to ruin me. You would have destroyed Jane."

"You poisoned me," Eleanor said with the words heavy and clumsy on her tongue.

"I am protecting my heir," he replied, as if it was the most logical thing in the world.

Eleanor tried to push herself up from the chair. She had to get out, to call for help. But her legs wouldn't obey. They gave way, and she collapsed against the table, sending a silver fork clattering to the floor. She gasped as her throat started to burn.

Sebastian stood and walked around the table. His footsteps were measured and unhurried. He stopped beside his wife, looking down at her crumpled form.

"I never wanted to do this, Eleanor."

"Liar," Eleanor hissed as teares pured down. "I loved you... I thought… I thought we could be happy."

"You don't know what love is, Eleanor. It was the same with Damien."

The name of her first husband, his brother, felt like a final, brutal twist of the knife. Damien, who had been charming and kind. Damien, who had died so young.

"Don't you speak his name," she warned, her voice a broken rasp.

"Why not? You were just a convenience for him, too. A perfect, well-bred wife to secure the family line," Sebastian said, his voice laced with a cruel satisfaction. "Do you know what his last words were? Not your name. He was delirious, dying in your arms, but he whispered Jane's name."

Eleanor’s mind flashed back to that horrible night his first husband died. Damien was pale and bleeding as Eleanor held his hand.

"He said, ‘Tell Jane I’m sorry’," Sebastian revealed, his smile thin and sharp. "‘Tell her I loved her most.’"

It all crashed down on her. Two brothers. Two husbands. Her entire life had been a lie, a stage play where she was the lead actress, and everyone else knew the real story. And the star of that story had always been Jane.

As if on cue, the dining room door opened.

Jane Thorne stood on the threshold. She wore a simple dress. Her hand were clasped in front of her. She looked at Sebastian. Her eyes was wide with feigned innocence.

"Sebastian? Is it done?"

"It's over now," he said, going to her. He wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.

Jane looked over Sebastian's arm and her eyes locked with Eleanor’s. The mask of the sweet, humble servant girl dropped. A cold, cunning smile spread across her face. It was a look of absolute victory.

The betrayal was so complete, so profound, it burned away every last trace of sorrow. All that was left was a pure, clarifying rage. Eleanor realized she had been a fool. Twice, she had chosen men who used her, who threw her away for the same woman. She had traded her power, her name, and her wealth for a chance at love, and this was her reward.

"Never again."

The thought was a vow.

"If I get another chance, I’ll change everything."

Her vision tunneled. The triumphant faces of Sebastian and Jane were the last thing she saw.

"I won't look for love. There will only be power... and I will win."

Then, the world went black.