Chapter 8 - The Severed Cord
Eleanor turned slowly toward her youngest son, her expression shifting from venom to calculated disappointment.
"Marcus, don't be dramatic," Eleanor said smoothly, adjusting her coat. "I am trying to clean up your mess."
Marcus ignored her completely, walking straight past her and dropping to his knees beside my bed.
He reached for my hand, his fingers trembling as he pressed his forehead against my knuckles.
"Khloe, forgive me," he choked out, hot tears wetting the back of my hand. "I should have protected you better."
I looked down at his bowed head, seeing the genuine, raw agony breaking through his polished exterior.
"You knew about the car?" I asked softly, needing to hear it directly from his lips.
Marcus looked up, his eyes rimmed in red, nodding miserably.
"I found the slashed brake line forty minutes before you were supposed to leave the studio," Marcus confessed.
"I paid the mechanic to replace it, and I hired Arthur's team to trace the source."
"Why didn't you tell me?" I whispered, my voice breaking.
"Because the IP address traced back to this room, to our house, to my family," Marcus said, looking back at Eleanor with pure disgust.
"I thought I could catch Isabella red-handed before she ever got close to you again."
"And instead, you let her put her heel against Khloe's stomach!" Arthur shouted from across the room.
Marcus stood up, his tall frame dwarfing his mother as he stepped into her personal space.
"The police just raided Isabella's apartment in Soho," Marcus revealed, his voice steady and cold.
Eleanor’s eyes flickered with the first microscopic trace of uncertainty.
"What did they find?" Eleanor asked, keeping her chin raised high.
"A digital audio recorder hidden inside her jewelry box," Marcus answered, a grim smile touching his lips.
"She recorded every single phone call you made to her over the last six months, Mother."
Eleanor’s pristine composure cracked, her throat bobbing as she swallowed hard.
"She recorded you discussing the wire transfer," Marcus continued, taking another step forward.
"She recorded you telling her how much medication to slip into Khloe's prenatal drinks."
I gasped, looking at the IV bag connected to my arm, the horror of past weeks suddenly falling into place.
My fainting spells, the sudden dizzy spells at the breakfast table—it wasn't just morning sickness.
"You poisoned me?" I whispered, looking at Eleanor with pure horror.
"It was a mild sedative, just enough to cause an early, unviable termination," Eleanor snapped, her mask completely falling off.
"You were never supposed to carry a Vance heir!"
"She's carrying *my* child!" Marcus roared, his voice rattling the glass windows of the suite.
Marcus reached into his pocket and pulled out a signed, notarized legal document.
"As of eight o'clock this morning, Arthur and I invoked the morality clause in Father's will," Marcus announced.
"You have been stripped of the board presidency, your trust fund is frozen, and you are officially evicted from the family estate."
Eleanor stared at the paper in his hand, her face turning crimson with incandescent rage.
"You wouldn't dare," she hissed. "I built this empire!"
"You tried to kill my family," Marcus whispered. "You are nothing to me."
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Before Eleanor could scream another word, Detective Miller walked into the room, holding a pair of steel handcuffs.
"Eleanor Vance, you are under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder and aggravated assault."
