The Last Cake for Hannah Chapter 2

I looked at my husband, and a cold laugh tore from my throat.

“I’m turning it into a spectacle? Richard, your mistress’s proxy is handing you both a promotion on a silver platter, so of course you’re thrilled.”

His face drained of color. “What the hell are you talking about?!”

Sylvia gasped, fresh tears spilling over her lashes like rain. “Eleanor... how could you think that of me? You know how busy you are at the firm. I only stepped in to take care of Richard and Hannah so you wouldn't have to worry! Richard is your husband. I would never, ever cross that line—”

She cut herself off with a violent, delicate cough, clutching her chest.

Richard and Hannah lunged toward her at the exact same moment.

Richard caught Sylvia by the waist, gently patting her back with practiced ease. “Breathe, Sylvia. You know your lungs can’t take this stress. Eleanor is just bitter and paranoid. Don’t listen to her.”

Sylvia weakly pushed him away, looking at me with red-rimmed, wounded eyes. “Eleanor... you’ve been my only real friend in this world. If my presence made Hannah confused, blame me. Punish me. But don’t tear this family apart.”

Hearing that, Hannah flared up like a lit match. She spun on me, practically shaking with rage. “Eleanor, shut up! How much more are you going to bully her? Sylvia isn't your charity case! If you treated her with an ounce of genuine respect, I wouldn't have had to do this tonight!”

If I treated her with respect?

It was laughable. It was sickening.

Twenty years ago, when Sylvia’s ex-husband put her in the ER with cracked ribs, I drove six hours through a blinding sleet storm to pull her out of that house. I hired the top criminal defense attorneys in the state and spent six figures making sure that bastard went to federal prison.

When she said the corporate world gave her panic attacks, I bought her a charming cottage on the edge of my estate and deposited an allowance into her account every single month for two decades.

When she suffered a late-term miscarriage years later and fell into a deep depression, I was eight months pregnant myself, yet I sat by her bedside night after night, holding her hand while my ankles swelled until they bruised.

Back then, she held my fingers and wept, swearing that my baby would be loved as if it were her own.

I never realized she meant she would literally steal my daughter from under my nose.

“Sylvia,” I said, stepping closer, my voice low and dangerous. “You’ve eaten my food, lived under my roof, and spent my money for twenty years. Look me in the eye and tell this room that I’ve mistreated you.”

Hannah nudged Sylvia’s arm. “Go on, Mom! Tell them! Tell everyone what you had to endure living in her shadow! Let them see the real Eleanor Mercer!”

Sylvia kept her head bowed, staring at the polished floorboards, stammering incoherently. “It’s... it’s all in the past now...”

I looked at her, every ounce of pity draining out of me. “I spent twenty years nurturing a stray, only to have it bite my throat. Consider those two decades a write-off. As of tonight, get out of my sight. Both of you.”

Panic flickered across Sylvia’s face. She reached out desperately to grab my arm. “Eleanor, please, you’re misunderstanding everything! I never wanted to take anything from you!”

When I pulled my arm away, she let out a theatrical sob. “If my being here brings you this much pain... I’ll leave right now.”

She turned to walk away, but instead of walking toward the exit, she staggered sideways, pitching directly toward me.

Instinctively, I pivoted to avoid her. But my three-inch Louboutin heel caught a slick patch of spilled Cabernet on the parquet.

My ankle twisted with an audible crunch, and I hit the floor hard, the shattered wine glass slicing straight through my stockings and into my shin.

Across the floor, Richard and Hannah didn't even look down at me. They both rushed past my sprawled body to catch Sylvia before she touched the carpet.

“Sylvia! Are you alright?”

“Mom! Speak to me!”

I sat on the cold floor, surrounded by broken glass and dark red wine that pooled like blood, watching my husband of twenty years and the daughter I almost died birthing fuss over another woman's simulated faint.

My ribs seized with a suffocating, tearing pain. But my mind was clearer than it had ever been in my life.

Sylvia collapsed into Richard’s arms, her voice frail as gossamer. “Richard... please don’t be angry with Eleanor. It was my fault... I lost my balance. She didn't mean to push me...”

Richard’s head whipped around, his eyes blazing with fury. “Eleanor, you’ve gone completely insane! Sylvia spent this entire evening defending you, and you assault her in front of our guests?!”

A young woman pushed through the crowd, dropping to her knees beside me with an audible gasp. “Mrs. Mercer! Oh god, you're bleeding!”

It was Paige, my senior executive assistant. Her hands were shaking as she pulled off her own silk scarf, pressing it firmly against the deep gash on my calf. “We need to get you to the hospital right now. Please let me help you up.”

I looked at Paige’s panicked, earnest face.

In this entire crowded room of family, friends, and lifelong associates, the only person who cared whether I lived or bled was an assistant with zero blood relation to me.

A grim, bitter laugh caught in my throat. Twenty-five years of conquering corporate boardrooms, and I had surrounded myself with a den of vipers.

Gritting my teeth against the searing agony in my ankle, I pushed myself up from the floor.

Richard looked down at my blood-soaked leg, and for a fleeting second, something resembling human guilt flickered in his eyes. He took a half-step toward me.

Immediately, Sylvia’s fingers curled around his lapel, her breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. “Richard... please, don’t yell at her... Eleanor has always been sharp-tongued, but she has a good heart... just be patient with her...”

Richard’s posture stiffened instantly. He didn't look at my leg again.

Without another word, he scooped Sylvia up into his arms like a damsel in distress. “Eleanor, she’s still protecting you while you act like a monster. You don't deserve a single shred of her kindness.”

He carried her out through the grand double doors of the banquet hall.

Hannah jogged after them, pausing at the threshold just long enough to throw a venomous glare back over her shoulder. “Eleanor, I was going to be gracious enough to let you be my godmother. Now? Don't even flatter yourself.”