Reborn Matriarch: Shattering The Orphan's Mask

The low, aggressive growl of a flat-six engine tore through the quiet morning air of the estate.

A silver Porsche 911 Carrera whipped around the circular driveway and slammed to a halt near the front steps. The driver's side door swung open.

Julianna stepped out. She wore a sharp, camel-colored trench coat and a pair of black Louboutin heels. The red soles flashed as she marched up the steps. She had just wrapped up a massive gallery exhibition in New York and drove through the night to spend the weekend in Boston.

Maura opened the door before Julianna could ring the bell.

"Welcome home, Miss Julianna," Maura said, taking the trench coat. There was a noticeable lightness in the housekeeper's face.

Julianna handed over her coat and paused. She inhaled. The air in the foyer felt different. The suffocating tension and the lingering smell of Evelyn's overly sweet vanilla perfume were entirely absent.

She walked into the sunlit breakfast room. Grant was reading the paper. Camren was staring blankly at a plate of scrambled eggs. Christa was sipping tea.

The fourth chair was empty.

Julianna pulled out her chair and sat down. She raised one perfectly arched eyebrow.

"Where is the tragic genius?" Julianna asked, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Usually she's reciting Shakespeare and demanding everyone's attention by now."

Grant stopped turning the page of his newspaper. He let out a heavy sigh and didn't answer.

Camren kept his head down, his jaw tight, his eyes refusing to leave his plate.

Christa smiled. She picked up a plate of freshly baked blueberry pancakes and slid it across the table to her eldest daughter.

"She ran off to pursue her street romance last night," Christa said, her voice light and unbothered. "She won't be ruining our breakfast today."

Julianna caught the dangerous glint in her mother's eye. A slow, knowing smirk spread across Julianna's face.

The rest of the breakfast was a revelation. Nobody interrupted. Nobody manufactured a crisis. Grant actually put down his paper and talked to Camren about the Celtics game.

When the plates were cleared, Christa picked up a woven basket from the counter and walked out the back doors toward the glass greenhouse.

Julianna grabbed her coffee cup and followed.

The air inside the greenhouse was thick and humid, smelling strongly of damp earth and blooming Damask roses.

Christa picked up a pair of heavy steel pruning shears. She expertly positioned the blades around a dead, thorny branch.

Julianna leaned against the wooden potting bench. "Alright, Mom. Cut the act. You finally decided to stop putting up with the little parasite?"

Snap.

Christa cut the branch. She didn't look up as she detailed the events of the past twenty-four hours. She told Julianna about the recording, the dinner, the ultimatum, and Camren's breakdown in the study.

Julianna let out a harsh, bitter laugh. She set her coffee cup down hard on the wood.

"I always knew she was a leech," Julianna spat, adjusting her gold watch. "She's been playing Dad and Camren for years."

Christa stopped cutting. She turned to look at her eldest daughter. In her past life, Julianna had taken the fall for massive corporate fraud that Evelyn had orchestrated, spending years in a federal prison just to keep Grant out of it.

A sudden heat pricked the back of Christa's eyes. She dropped the shears into the basket. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms tightly around Julianna.

Julianna stiffened for a second, completely caught off guard by the physical affection. Then, she relaxed, wrapping her arms around her mother's shoulders.

"Don't worry, Mom," Julianna whispered. "I'm on your side."

Christa pulled back. The brief moment of vulnerability vanished, replaced by cold steel.

"We don't kick her out," Christa explained, her voice dropping. "We let her dig her own grave. We let her push until there is absolutely no sympathy left for her in this house."

Julianna's eyes lit up with predatory approval. "Give her enough rope to hang herself. I love it."

Before Christa could reply, the sound of frantic footsteps crunching on the gravel path echoed outside the glass walls.

Both women turned their heads.

Through the condensation on the glass, they saw Evelyn. Her hair was a tangled mess, her uniform was wrinkled, and her eyes were swollen red. She was sprinting toward the main house, looking like she had just survived a war zone.