Chapter 3 The Heir’s Promise

The Hemsworth estate had become a hive of mourners. The long driveway, usually reserved for polished black cars and private guests, now crawled with people, organisations, and firms, all eager to pay their last respects. Alexander Hemsworth had not been just a man—he had been a symbol, a pillar of the city. His name carried weight, his face was familiar, and his reputation had seeped into the very fabric of Nashville society.

Camera flashes dotted the gates. Reporters pressed microphones against the iron bars, their voices calling out questions, their vans parked along the road. The news cycle was relentless. Broadcasters and newspapers alike flooded the air with his story.

“Titan Falls: Billionaire Found Dead in His Mansion.”

“Hemsworth Empire in Jeopardy?”

“Behind Closed Doors—Scandal in the Hemsworth Family?”

The headlines screamed suspicion, laced with scandal, but none of it mattered to Elena. She sat in the grand drawing room, her black dress heavy as lead, her face pale with exhaustion. Her husband was dead. Whatever their flaws, whatever their fractures, Alexander had been hers. He had been Timothy’s father.

She turned her gaze to her son. Timothy sat quietly beside her, his small body pressed close against hers as though her presence alone could keep him anchored. His little hand clung tightly to hers, his eyes staring blankly at the floor. He hadn’t spoken much since that horrific morning, but Elena didn’t need words to know—he was breaking. She could feel it in his silence, in the way his body trembled ever so slightly against her side.

“Ma’am.”

The soft voice of one of the aides broke through her fog. Elena lifted her head.

“Mr. Harris, your husband’s lawyer and trusted friend, is here,” the maid said gently. “He is accompanied by a detective from the district police. Shall I let them in?”

Elena inhaled, steadying herself. Mr. Harris. Loyal, composed, shrewd. And the police—of course, they had questions. A man of Alexander’s stature did not simply die quietly without the world demanding answers.

“Yes,” she said after a moment, her voice calm though her heart pounded. “Have them wait in the glass living room. I will be with them shortly.”

The maid nodded and withdrew.

Elena sat still for a moment longer, her eyes closing as dread pressed heavily against her chest. She had known this moment was inevitable. When a man of Alexander’s wealth and power dies suddenly, people do not simply grieve—they speculate. They investigate.

So when the authorities had demanded the body for autopsy, Elena had not resisted. She had agreed, because she had nothing to hide. Or at least… that’s what she told herself.

With a quiet sigh, she rose from her seat, smoothed the folds of her dress, and glanced once more at her son. Timothy’s grip tightened around her hand, his wide, unblinking eyes lifting to hers, silently begging her to stay.

“Jo,” she whispered, kneeling to kiss his forehead. “I’ll be back soon, my love. Be brave for me.”

Then she straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin, and walked toward the glass living room, where shadows of suspicion awaited her.

When Elena reached the glass living area, she passed lingering guests who still whispered condolences, their voices hushed as if death itself was listening. She held her head high, her steps graceful though her chest felt unbearably tight.

Inside, she found Mr. Harris seated beside two unfamiliar men in dark suits. She immediately knew they were the detectives the maid had mentioned.

The taller of the two rose politely as she entered. His posture was crisp, his expression practised with solemn empathy.

“Mrs. Hemsworth,” he said, extending his hand. She accepted it lightly. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”

Elena merely nodded. She never knew how to respond to that sentence, though she had heard it countless times over the last few days. Every “sorry for your loss” was another reminder of what her life had become: widowhood. It was a title she neither asked for nor was ready to accept.

She sank into one of the armchairs opposite them. The detectives followed suit, leaving Mr. Harris leaning forward in his usual steady, reassuring manner.

“The detectives have some information regarding Alexander’s passing,” Harris said quietly, his tone measured. “They’re here to share their findings with you.”

Elena’s body stiffened. A cold current rippled through her veins. Was Alexander’s death… more than a natural misfortune?

Her gaze drifted to the shorter detective. He had been silent until now, but as she watched, he reached into his suit pocket and withdrew a small leather-bound notebook. He flipped it open, cleared his throat, and lifted his eyes to hers.

“Mrs. Hemsworth,” he began, his voice even but firm. “My name is Detective Philip. Once again, I extend my condolences.”

This time, Elena barely nodded. She was no longer interested in sympathy. She wanted answers. Her fingers tightened slightly against the armrest as she drew in a shaky breath.

“I hear you have information regarding my husband’s death,” she said softly, though her grief cracked the edges of her voice.

Detective Philip paused, meeting her gaze squarely. For the briefest second, his jaw tightened before he spoke again.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “And I must warn you it’s not what you might have expected.”

Detective Philip adjusted the notebook in his lap, his tone steady and professional.

“Mrs. Hemsworth, before we proceed, I’d like to ask a few questions about your husband’s health while he was still alive. Was there anything unusual? Any ongoing illnesses? Any history of medical conditions we should be aware of?”

Elena folded her hands tightly on her lap, her knuckles paling under the pressure. She drew in a breath before answering.

“Apart from a slightly weak heart, Alexander was fine. Years ago, around the time Timothy was born, he had a scare—what the doctors feared could’ve been a heart attack. But he pulled through. Since then, he’s been diligent about his health, following every recommendation his physician gave him. Diet, exercise, medication—all of it. And as far as I know, he was doing well.”

Her words hung in the air, followed by a heavy silence. Mr. Harris looked down at his folded hands. The detectives exchanged a glance, as though weighing her response carefully.

At last, Elena leaned forward, her voice soft but tinged with impatience.

“What is this really about? What did you find?”

The taller detective shifted slightly in his seat. His eyes locked on hers, unwavering, as if searching her face for any flicker of reaction. When he finally spoke, his voice was careful, deliberate, each word falling heavy in the room.

“Well, Mrs. Hemsworth,” he said slowly, “the toxicology report from the autopsy revealed traces of fentanyl in your husband’s system.”

Elena blinked, stunned, her voice cracking in disbelief.

“What?”

The detective didn’t flinch. “Exactly what I said, ma’am. Mr. Hemsworth’s body showed evidence of a fentanyl overdose. And fentanyl, in excessive amounts, is strong enough to trigger a fatal cardiac arrest.”

Her breath caught in her chest. She shook her head, her voice trembling.

“No… no, that can’t be right. Alexander isn’t suicidal. He was careful—painfully careful. His medication regimen is strict. He wouldn’t… he wouldn’t do that.”

The tall investigator cleared his throat, the sound rough in the quiet of the room. He leaned forward slightly, his gaze narrowing.

“Well, Mrs. Hemsworth,” he said with measured weight, “if your husband didn’t take his own life, like you claim, then someone else made sure he did.”

Elena stiffened, her entire body cold. Her mind reeled with the implication. Were they trying to suggest… her? That she killed her husband?

Elena’s jaw tightened, her voice sharp and cutting through the thick silence.

“Are you implying something, Investigator?” Her eyes locked on the tall man, burning with irritation.

Before he could answer, the shorter detective leaned forward, his tone calm but firm.

“Not at all, Mrs. Hemsworth. We’re not implying, only stating the possibility.”

Her nostrils flared as her voice rose, heavy with emotion.

“I did not kill my husband.”

The taller investigator gave the faintest smile, but it felt more like a provocation than reassurance.

“We never said you did, ma’am.”

That was enough. Elena shot to her feet, her composure unravelling.

“I believe you’ve overstayed your welcome. Please leave.”

The two detectives exchanged a glance, then rose with deliberate slowness. The tall one adjusted his coat before speaking, his words measured but laced with warning.

“This isn’t over, Mrs. Hemsworth. We’ll be reaching out soon. Once again… sorry for your loss.”

The words struck Elena like a slap—mock sympathy wrapped in suspicion. Her voice hardened into steel.

“Please. Leave.”

They were almost at the door when a stir at the entrance pulled everyone’s attention. A figure stood framed in the doorway.

Madison.

Her raven-colored locks glowed in the light of the chandelier, perfectly styled. Her scarlet lipstick shone like a knife, and her neckline plunged to a provocative depth. She exuded the same intoxicating allure that had always made men stumble and women seethe.

“Ma’am, I’m so sorry. I tried to stop her…” one of the maids stammered nervously, wringing her hands.

“It’s fine, Beatrice,” Elena cut her off with a wave, her eyes never leaving Madison. Her voice dropped, filled with fury.

“How dare you show up here? What the hell are you doing in my house?”

Mr. Harris raised his hand, trying to intervene.

“Elena, I think we should all just—”

“No, Harris!” Elena snapped, her voice echoing through the glass room. “I want this woman out of my house. This instant! Beatrice, call security!”

All the while, Madison stood perfectly still, her crimson lips curved into a sly smile. She didn’t flinch, didn’t waver—her presence was like venom dripping slowly.

When she finally spoke, her words slithered out, soft and cutting.

“That’s no way to talk… to the new owner of this house.”

Elena scoffed, her eyes raking Madison up and down with disdain.

“New owner of the house? Are you delusional?”

Click. Click. Click. Madison’s jewelled heels struck the marble as she stepped closer, her eyes glittering with triumph.

“You see, Elena… you are the delusional one. Thinking Alexander was going to stay with you forever.”

Elena froze, her heart thudding in her chest.

“What are you implying?”

Madison leaned in just enough for her perfume to linger in the air, her voice dripping poison.

“You knew he was going to leave you.”

“How dare you!” Elena’s voice cracked with rage. “How dare you speak such lies in my home!”

Madison laughed, the sound sharp and theatrical. She turned her gaze to the detectives still lingering near the door, their attention caught by the storm unfolding before them. With perfect composure, she raised a finger and pointed directly at Elena.

“She killed him.”

The words cut the air like glass.

“Liar!” Timothy’s voice pierced the silence.

Elena gasped, turning to see her son in the doorway, his small body rigid with resistance. He had heard everything. His eyes were filled with a mixture of fear and rage, too old for his young age.

“Timothy…” Elena whispered, her voice trembling as he ran to her, pressing his back against her body as though to shield her. She clutched his shoulders, anchoring herself to him as the storm raged.

“How dare you?” she said again, her voice low but trembling with righteous fire. “First, you disrespect my marriage… and now you won’t even let me mourn my husband in peace? Get out of my house, Madison! Get out now!”

Madison threw her head back and laughed—a wild, maniacal sound that chilled the air. Then she tilted her head, eyes narrowing, her tone turning soft and taunting.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Elena. I see Mr. Harris hasn’t dared to give you the news.”

She clapped her hands dramatically, mocking the room with every gesture.

“Allow me to do the honours, dear Mrs. Hemsworth. Your darling husband”—her voice dripped with venom as she mocked the word—“willed all of this, and all of his assets… to me.”

Elena’s knees nearly gave way. Her breath caught in shock.

“No…” she whispered, her voice breaking. “That’s not true. Alexander would never…”

Madison’s smile sharpened like a blade.

“But he did. And isn’t that why you killed him?”

The tall investigator stepped forward now, his attention fully captured, his voice steady but cautious.

“Uhmm… excuse me, Miss…”

Madison turned to the detectives, her lips curling into a cruel smile.

“Oh, forgive my manners. We’ve not been properly introduced. My name is Madison. Madison Wellman… Alexander’s supposed wife, before she had him killed.”

“Stop saying that!” Elena’s voice trembled, her body shaking with rage and disbelief. “Alexander could never—never do that! Yes, he cheated, but he adored his son, Timothy, above anything. Even with all our fights, he would never leave us with nothing. He would never betray us this way!”

Her eyes darted to Mr. Harris, Alexander’s most trusted lawyer, desperation etched across her face. If anyone could confirm this madness for what it was—a lie—it was him. Her voice broke into a plea.

“Harris… what is she talking about? Tell me this isn’t true.”

Mr. Harris cleared his throat, his eyes avoiding hers like a guilty man.

“That’s why I’m here, Elena,” he said slowly. “I tried to speak him out of it, but Alexander wouldn’t budge. He… he made changes to his will at the very last minute.”

Her breath caught in her throat.

“No…”

Harris placed a folder on the polished table, the sound deafening in the silence.

“These are the documents. They state that all of Alexander’s assets now belong to Madison Wellman. That’s why I’m here today… to inform you.”

Elena staggered back, her face draining of colour. Her voice came out hoarse, raw.

“You’re trying to tell me… that my husband gave everything he owned… to this whore?”

“Oh, quit with the pretence, Elena,” Madison sneered, feigning pity. “Isn’t that why you killed him?”

The tall investigator’s brow furrowed, his gaze snapping toward Madison.

“Killed him?” he asked cautiously.

“Yes!” Madison declared, stepping forward, her voice rising. “Elena found out about my affair with Alexander. She discovered he was going to divorce her, so she had him killed! She didn’t know about the last-minute changes in his will… but she killed him out of spite.”

Her voice cracked as she forced tears to her eyes, her performance impeccable.

Elena stood frozen. Words deserted her; the ground beneath her seemed to vanish. Her knees turned to water, and she stumbled forward, her balance gone.

“Mother!” Timothy cried, rushing to her side, his small face wet with tears. He clung to her desperately, his tiny voice breaking, “Mother!”

The room spun around Elena. Her husband’s betrayal. Her son’s stolen future. This woman’s venom drips into the ears of strangers. And Harris—oh, Harris.

Mr. Harris moved to steady her, but she pushed him away violently.

“Don’t touch me!” she screamed, her voice ragged with grief and fury. “How could you let him do this? How? What happens to my son and me, Harris? What happens to us?!”

Mr. Harris couldn’t speak. His lips parted, but no words came out; his gaze fixed firmly on the ground, avoiding Elena’s eyes like a coward.

The shorter investigator finally broke the silence.

“Mrs. Hemsworth,” he said firmly, “you’ll have to come with us for questioning.”

“I’m going nowhere!” Elena’s voice cracked like glass. Her chest heaved as she glared at them. “I didn’t kill him. This is all a setup!"

Madison snarled, her lips twisting into a killing smile.

"And while you're making your alibis, I'll need you and your son off these premises—immediately."

You can't do that!" Elena cried out, her voice hoarse with desperation.

But Madison stepped closer, her heels clicking against the marble floor like a predator advancing on prey. She leaned in, her whisper sharp as a blade.

“I already did. Now get. Out.”

Elena’s scream tore from her throat, ragged and broken.

“Timothy just lost his father! The least you can do—the very least is allow him to mourn his father in peace!”

Madison laughed, low and maniacal, the sound cutting through the air like venom.

“I don’t care,” she hissed. Then, louder, almost gleeful. “Leave!”

Elena’s tear-filled eyes swept across the grand, glittering room—one of many living rooms in the mansion she once called home. The walls seemed to close in on her, mocking her fall. Her gaze landed on Mr. Harris again, still refusing to meet her eyes, his silence louder than betrayal.

Her world had collapsed in a single moment. Everything she had fought to protect—her marriage, her home, her son’s future—was gone. And when her trembling eyes fell on Timothy’s face, she saw what truly broke her, not just his tears, but the spark that burned behind them. A spark of rage. A spark of something darker.

Hopelessness still lingered in his expression, but beneath it simmered a new resolve—cold, determined.

As Elena followed the investigators out, the sea of mourners, reporters, and flashing cameras shifted their focus. No one cared for Alexander Hemsworth anymore. The headlines would not be about his empire or his death but about her. The bitter widow who murdered her husband and lost everything. A lie that would soon circle the world.

And as the car drove off, Elena and Timothy sat silently in the back. She felt her son’s small hand grip hers with surprising strength. She looked down, expecting fear, but found none.

Instead, Timothy’s teary eyes burned with something else. A vow.

“One day, Mother,” he said, his voice low but steady, “I’ll take it all back.”