The True Heiress Returns After Divorce

Emmie carefully folded the signed divorce agreement. She slid it, along with the silver key, into the hidden inner pocket of her trench coat. She picked up the silver lighter from the table. She held the flame to her grandfather's handwritten note, watching it burn until nothing but black ash fell into the ashtray. She stood up and walked out of the greenhouse. The sky outside was just beginning to turn a pale, bruised purple. She went to the guest room, washed her face, and changed into a simple, gray loungewear set. Her expression was as calm as a stagnant pool of water. She had a plan. If she was going to leave, she would leave on her own terms—and she needed to expose Hortensia's lies before the family court. A public breakfast where Hortensia's own hand would trigger her allergy... that would be the perfect evidence. She moved with cold, deliberate precision. She walked into the massive, open-concept kitchen. Agnes, the head cook, saw her and immediately looked down, scrubbing a spotless counter to avoid eye contact. Emmie ignored her. She opened the industrial refrigerator and pulled out the ingredients. She moved with mechanical precision. She chopped celery, potatoes, and leeks, simmering a large pot of vegetable chowder—no seafood at all. She knew Hortensia's allergy all too well. On the side, she toasted whole wheat bread and prepared a small bowl of plain oatmeal. Footsteps clicked against the hardwood floor. Daxton's mother, Meredith, and his sister, Alaia, walked into the dining room. Meredith wrinkled her nose the second she saw Emmie carrying the soup tureen. "God, the whole house smells like a fish market," she sneered. Alaia rolled her eyes, pulling out her chair. "She's practically a maid anyway. It's the only thing she's good for. Don't forget the lemon tart you promised me for tomorrow. I want it with extra zest. " Emmie set the tureen down. Her face didn't change. She turned around and walked back to the kitchen to get her own coffee. Hortensia floated down the stairs. She wore a pristine white dress. Her left cheek was visibly red—she had clearly pinched it to make the slap mark look worse. Hortensia walked to the table. "Good morning, Mrs. Ellis," she said softly, turning her head just enough to make sure Meredith saw her cheek. Meredith's eyes flicked to the red mark, then to Emmie. She knew exactly who had done it—the maid had reported everything. But she chose to say nothing, letting Hortensia play her victim role. "Hortensia, darling, what happened to your face?" Hortensia's eyes filled with tears. She looked terrified, glancing toward the kitchen where Emmie was standing. She bit her lip and looked down. Emmie walked out with her black coffee. She didn't look at them. She sat at the absolute furthest end of the long dining table. Hortensia wiped a fake tear. "It's fine. I just want peace." To prove her point, she reached for the bowl of vegetable chowder. She picked up a silver spoon from the center of the table and took a sip. Emmie's eyes swept the table. The serving spoon Hortensia reached for had been used earlier for a crab salad—left over from last night's dinner that Emmie hadn't attended. She saw the tiny shred of crab meat still clinging to the handle. Hortensia must have seen it too. Ten seconds later, Hortensia dropped the spoon. It clattered loudly against the china. Hortensia slid off her chair, crashing heavily to the floor. Her fingers clawed frantically at the expensive Persian rug. She let out a horrific, high-pitched wheezing sound as her airway rapidly swelled shut, her eyes bulging with genuine panic as she fought for a single breath of air. Meredith jumped up, knocking her chair backward. "Get the EpiPen! Call Daxton! Now!" The dining room exploded into chaos. Maids ran in every direction. Emmie sat perfectly still at the end of the table. She took a slow sip of her black coffee. Her cold eyes stared at Hortensia writhing on the floor. Emmie knew exactly what she had done. She had made Hortensia a separate bowl of plain oatmeal. There was no seafood anywhere near her setting. Emmie's eyes flicked to the spoon Hortensia had dropped. A tiny, microscopic shred of crab meat clung to the silver handle. Hortensia had deliberately grabbed a contaminated serving spoon to eat the soup. She was weaponizing her own lethal allergy. Heavy, frantic footsteps pounded down the stairs. Daxton burst into the dining room. His tie was undone, his hair messy. He saw Hortensia on the floor. Then, his head snapped up. His dark eyes locked onto Emmie. The look in his eyes was pure, unadulterated murder.