No More Submission: The Heiress Strikes Back

The next morning, the penthouse felt like a morgue. Eleni sat behind the massive antique desk in the study, aggressively flipping through glossy brochures of elite etiquette agencies Alon had printed out. The heavy mahogany doors creaked open. Fallon walked in, carrying a porcelain cup of Earl Grey tea on a silver saucer. Her eyes were swollen and red, the skin around them puffy from crying all night. She walked with exaggerated caution, as if the floorboards might collapse under her weight. She gently placed the teacup near Eleni's hand, her movements painfully slow. Eleni looked up. Seeing Fallon's pathetic, beaten-down expression drained a fraction of her lingering anger. She let out a long, exhausted sigh and pointed to the velvet sofa. Fallon sat down, keeping her knees pressed tightly together and her head bowed. "I'm so sorry, Mom," Fallon whispered, her voice cracking. "I embarrassed the family. I know I did." "We are fixing it," Eleni said stiffly. "You will learn." Fallon sniffled, wiping a tear from her cheek. "I want to learn. But... the debutante ball is coming up. Those normal agencies won't be enough to make me look like a real Roberson. I'll just embarrass you again." Alon pushed the study doors open just in time to hear her plea. He walked in, his jaw set with determination. "She's right," Alon said, standing behind Fallon's sofa. "A basic tutor is an insult to our name." Fallon tilted her head up, looking at Alon with wide, tear-filled eyes. She looked at him like he was a god descending to save her. "I heard..." Fallon started, her voice dropping to a timid whisper. "I heard Harmony has a private tutor. Madam Eleanor. The best in the city." Eleni's spine stiffened. Eleanor wasn't just a tutor; she was the undisputed queen of New York's high society. Getting on her client list required years of waiting and immense social leverage. "If Harmony doesn't want to share her," Fallon added quickly, forcing another tear to spill over her lashes, "it's okay. I'd rather be laughed at than make my sister angry again." The manipulative, self-deprecating tactic worked instantly. Alon's protective instincts flared into anger. "Harmony is grounded and her accounts are frozen," Alon snapped loudly. "She doesn't need Eleanor. She's not going anywhere." Alon marched over to the desk and slammed his hand down on the wood. "Call Eleanor, Mom. Transfer the contract to Fallon." Eleni hesitated. She stared at the custom landline phone. The social implications of demanding a switch from Eleanor were risky, but the fear of another public humiliation pushed her over the edge. She picked up the receiver. Out in the hallway, Harmony was walking toward the front door, her passport securely tucked into her leather bag. The study doors were cracked open. She heard every single word. Harmony stopped walking. She peered through the narrow gap, watching the heartwarming, unified front of her mother, brother, and the crying parasite. A wave of pure, icy amusement washed over her. Eleni dialed the private number. She put on her most polished, authoritative voice. "Eleanor, darling," Eleni said smoothly. "We need to make a slight adjustment. We are transferring your services from Harmony to our other daughter, Fallon." Through the phone, Eleanor went completely silent. The silence stretched on for five agonizing seconds. The tension in the study spiked. Eleni's grip on the phone tightened, her knuckles turning white. Finally, Eleanor's crisp, aristocratic voice came through. "I will meet with the girl. Send her tomorrow." Fallon gasped. She jumped off the sofa and threw her arms around Eleni's neck, burying her face in her mother's shoulder. As she hugged Eleni, Fallon opened her eyes. A sharp, triumphant gleam flashed in her pupils. Outside the door, Harmony didn't feel a shred of anger. She pulled her phone from her pocket and opened an encrypted messaging app. She typed a quick text to Eleanor. Congratulations on your freedom. Stick to the plan. Eleanor wasn't just a tutor. She was one of the few people who knew Harmony's true identity. For years, Eleanor had helped Harmony maintain her facade as a mediocre, unremarkable socialite. Handing Eleanor over to Fallon wasn't a loss; it was Harmony shedding a heavy layer of camouflage. It was also a brutal trap. Harmony slipped the phone back into her pocket. She intentionally stomped her stiletto heel hard against the marble floor. The joyful laughter inside the study died instantly. Fallon flinched, looking terrified toward the door. Alon stormed out of the study into the hallway, his chest puffed out. He looked at Harmony's travel bag and smirked. "Don't be bitter, Harmony," Alon gloated, crossing his arms. "Eleanor belongs to Fallon now. You lost your privileges." Harmony stopped. She turned her head and looked Alon dead in the eyes. A bright, incredibly genuine smile broke across her face. It was a smile of pure, unadulterated relief. "Thank you," Harmony said softly. Alon's smirk vanished. A cold shiver violently crawled up his spine. The gratitude in her voice was so real it made his stomach drop. He couldn't comprehend it. Harmony didn't wait for him to figure it out. She adjusted the strap of her bag, turned her back on him, and walked straight into the private elevator. The metal doors slid shut, cutting off her ties to the penthouse forever.