Chapter 166
Chapter 166:
Eliza hung up. She felt sick. She needed to end this chapter completely — to look them in the eye and extinguish whatever hope they were still clinging to.
She texted Dallas.
Eliza: Going to Hyde Manor. Don’t worry. Just severing the final tie.
His reply came immediately.
Dallas: The security app on your phone is active. I’ll have a car waiting outside the gate. 60 minutes.
He was timing her. Protective, not controlling.
Eliza picked up her bag. She felt as though she were walking into a funeral. Or a trap — but not the honey kind.
𝘛hous𝗮𝗇𝖽𝗌 o𝖿 r𝖾𝘢𝗱er𝘴 on
The iron gates of Hyde Manor groaned as they swung open. Eliza guided the Ghost down the familiar gravel driveway, the powerful purr of its engine a quiet shield against the oppressive silence of the estate. The house looked smaller than she remembered. The grandeur she had once feared now looked like nothing more than old stone and ivy straining to conceal the rot beneath.
Maria — the maid who had once slipped Eliza extra bread rolls in secret — opened the front door. Her eyes held a look of quiet pity.
“Miss Eliza p>
“Hello, Maria,” Eliza said softly.
Victoria was in the drawing room, looking aged and frail, her hands trembling as she poured tea into delicate china cups.
“Thank you for coming,” she said, gesturing toward a chair.
“Where is he?” Eliza remained standing. She kept her coat on.
“Upstairs. He refuses to come down,” Victoria said, the teapot rattling faintly against the cup.
“You said he was unwell. He sounds like a child throwing a tantrum,” Eliza said, her voice cold. “I’m not here to babysit his ego p>
“He loves you, Eliza. He made a mistake with Claudine,” Victoria pleaded, looking up with watery eyes. “He realizes that now p>
“He made a choice. For money. For status,” Eliza corrected. “He didn’t make a mistake, Victoria. He made a transaction p>
The sound of tires screeching on gravel cut through the room. A car door slammed. High heels struck the marble foyer in sharp, furious clicks.
Claudine Chapman burst into the drawing room. She was wearing a white coat, her hair wild, her face twisted in rage.
“I knew it! I knew she was here!” She leveled a manicured finger at Eliza. “The prodigal orphan returns p>
Victoria rose from her chair, alarmed. “Claudine, this is a private family matter p>
“I am family!” Claudine’s voice cracked. “I am carrying his heir p>
The room went silent.
Eliza stared. “Heir p>
Claudine placed a hand over her flat stomach and lifted her chin. “Yes. I’m pregnant. Six weeks p>
Victoria made a soft, strangled sound, her hand flying to her chest. “You… are p>
Eliza looked at Claudine and waited — for the pain, the jealousy, the old familiar ache of loss.
Nothing came. Only a wave of immense, uncomplicated relief.
“Congratulations,” Eliza said. Her voice was flat and entirely genuine.
Claudine blinked. She had come expecting tears. She had expected Eliza to crumble. Instead she received indifference, which was somehow worse.
“Don’t pretend you’re happy,” Claudine spat. “You’re here to steal him back. You’re trying to break us apart p>