Take My Fiancé, I Take The Empire

Eleanor rounded the corner into the East Wing hallway. Mrs. Davies was standing perfectly straight outside the heavy double doors of Lillian's suite. She was flanked by two towering security guards in black suits. Their sheer physical mass blocked the entire width of the corridor. Mrs. Davies gave Eleanor a curt, respectful nod. It was a silent confirmation that all exit routes from the wing were secured. No one was getting out. Eleanor gestured toward the doors, signaling Mrs. Davies to proceed with the breach. Mrs. Davies produced a master electronic keycard. She swiped it against the digital lock panel. The light flashed green with a sharp, piercing beep. One of the guards stepped forward and shoved the double doors open simultaneously. The heavy wood swung inward and hit the walls without a single knock of warning. Inside the luxurious suite, Lillian was lying on a velvet chaise lounge. She wore a silk eye mask, feigning a severe migraine. A half-empty crystal glass of champagne rested on the side table next to her. Isabelle was sitting at the vanity mirror across the room. She was aggressively brushing her hair, still pouting and red-faced from her earlier defeat in the garden. Hearing the doors crash open, Lillian assumed it was her husband returning to comfort her. She began a rehearsed, dramatic moan, clutching her forehead to emphasize her fragile nerves. Eleanor stepped into the center of the room. Her voice sliced through the fake moaning like a scalpel. "I wasn't aware champagne was the new medical cure for migraines, Lillian." Lillian ripped the silk eye mask off her face. Her expression twisted instantly from feigned weakness to genuine shock, and then to pure outrage as she saw Eleanor standing there with the guards. Isabelle dropped her hairbrush. It clattered loudly against the vanity. She spun around on her stool, her eyes wide with sudden, gripping panic. Lillian sat up sharply, her bare feet hitting the rug. "What is the meaning of this? ! Get out of my room! I will have these guards fired immediately!" Mrs. Davies stepped forward. Her tone was completely neutral, devoid of any emotion. She presented a laminated document. "Per the Sinclair family trust's health directives," Mrs. Davies announced loudly, "you are being relocated to a remote wellness retreat for severe nervous exhaustion, Mrs. Sinclair." Lillian's jaw dropped. She looked frantically at her phone resting on the side table. She grabbed it, her fingers fumbling over the screen to call Robert. She tapped the screen furiously. Her expression turned to pure dread. The screen displayed absolute zero cellular service and no Wi-Fi connection. Eleanor watched the realization hit the older woman. A cold, deeply satisfied smile played on Eleanor's lips as Lillian's primary weapon was neutralized. Isabelle jumped up from the vanity. She ran over and clutched her mother's arm, screaming at Eleanor. "You can't do this! This is illegal kidnapping! My father will destroy you!" Eleanor calmly reached into her jacket pocket. She pulled out the proxy document her father had signed. She held it up, just out of their physical reach. Eleanor read the authorization clause aloud. Her voice was steady and loud, proving that Senator Robert Sinclair had legally signed off on the medical transfer and stripped Lillian of all rights. Lillian stared at her husband's unmistakable, jagged signature at the bottom of the page. The ultimate betrayal hit her physical body. She slumped back against the chaise lounge, the strength leaving her legs. When the guards had first breached the doors, Mrs. Peterson, Lillian's loyal personal maid, had peeked out from the adjoining walk-in closet in sheer terror. One of the guards had immediately pinned her with a lethal glare, silently intimidating her into freezing in the shadows. But seeing her mistress completely broken and stripped of her rights was too much. Unable to hold back any longer, Mrs. Peterson suddenly burst out of the adjoining walk-in closet. She lunged forward, attempting to physically block the guards from approaching her mistress. One of the guards simply stepped sideways. Using his sheer mass, he effortlessly boxed Mrs. Peterson into a corner of the room, immobilizing her against the wall without throwing a single punch. Mrs. Davies signaled the second guard. He walked in and dropped two large, empty black duffel bags onto the pristine Persian rug. "You have exactly ten minutes to pack essential clothing," Mrs. Davies informed Lillian. "All jewelry, electronics, and luxury items will remain the property of the estate." Lillian began to hyperventilate. Her chest heaved rapidly. The reality of her total exile from Washington D. C.'s elite circles finally broke through her delusion. She fell to her knees on the rug. She looked up at Eleanor, her pride shattering into a million pieces. "Eleanor, please," Lillian begged, her voice a wet sob. "We can compromise. I will leave Arthur alone. I swear it." Eleanor looked down at her. Her eyes were devoid of any mercy. "A cancer isn't compromised with, Lillian," Eleanor stated flatly. "It is excised." Eleanor checked her watch. She tapped the glass face loudly. "The ten-minute countdown has officially started." Eleanor then turned her cold gaze to Isabelle. Isabelle shrank back against the wall, trembling violently, realizing she was being swept away in the exact same purge. Eleanor remained standing over the kneeling woman. The power dynamic in the room was permanently and violently inverted.