Daphne’s POV
Something shifts in the air after Eleanor's visit, though I can't quite name it.
I notice it first in small things—the kind of details most people would dismiss as coincidence or bad timing.
Patricia, the assistant to one of Xander's board members, who used to greet me with warm efficiency whenever I called to coordinate schedules, now offers only clipped responses and long pauses before answering simple questions.
Her voice carries an edge it didn't have before, something careful and measured.
"I'll have to check with Mr. Harrison and get back to you," she says when I ask about rescheduling a dinner we've hosted for years. "His calendar is quite full at the moment."
His calendar was never too full for the Hales before.
Then there's Victoria Chen, the charity committee chair I've worked with on the children's literacy foundation for the past eight months.
Our weekly calls have become a rhythm I actually enjoy—two women who genuinely care about the cause, strategizing over coffee and shared purpose.
But this week, her assistant emails to cancel: Something came up, Victoria will reach out when she's available.
She doesn't reach out.
Invitations arrive later than usual, worded more carefully, as though someone is reconsidering my presence on guest lists. The Henderson gala invitation comes addressed only to Xander.
The museum benefit lists "Mr. and Mrs. Hale" but includes a handwritten note asking me to "confirm my attendance separately"—as if my presence alongside my husband is suddenly in question.
Eleanor's fingerprints are invisible, but I feel them everywhere.
"You're overthinking it," Charlotte says when I call her, pacing the length of my bedroom while the twins nap.
"People get busy. Schedules change. It doesn't mean your mother-in-law is running some kind of shadow campaign against you."
"You don't know Eleanor." I pause at the window, watching a gardener trim hedges that don't need trimming.
"She doesn't make social calls without purpose. She doesn't ask questions she doesn't already know the answers to. Every word out of her mouth last week was calculated, Charlotte. Every single one."
"What did she say exactly?"
"Nothing I could point to, that's the genius of it. She wondered if the twins would be safer with her. She asked about Maya—a stranger, brought into the home during a crisis. She mentioned that references can be fabricated, that I barely know this woman I've trusted with my children."
"That's... actually a reasonable concern, Daph. Devil's advocate."
"It would be, if she cared about the twins' safety. But Eleanor doesn't care about safety. She cares about control, positioning, and about making sure everyone in Xander's life understands that she's the one who decides what's acceptable."
Charlotte is quiet for a moment. "What does Xander say?"
"He defended me. When she cornered him in his study, he actually defended me." I lean my forehead against the cool glass.
"But I can see it in his eyes, Charlotte, the doubt she planted. He's fighting it, but it's there. And that's exactly what she wanted."
After the call ends, I try to focus on the things I can control. The twins, who remain blissfully unaware of adult machinations.
Maya's competent management of the household, her steady presence that has become genuinely reassuring.
The security protocols Robert and Archie are refining daily, their heads bent together over tablets and floor plans like generals planning a campaign.
But the unease burrows deeper with each passing hour. I catch myself analyzing every interaction, searching for Eleanor's influence in places it might not exist. Paranoia and instinct feel identical when you're tired enough.
That night, after the house falls quiet, I find Xander in our bedroom already undressed, sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands.
The day's tension is carved into his shoulders, knotting the muscles along his spine.
I shed my robe and climb into bed beside him, pressing my body against his back, my lips brushing the nape of his neck.
"Your mother is planning something," I murmur against his skin.
He turns in his arms, and his expression carries the particular weariness of a man caught between loyalty to blood and loyalty to truth.
He wants to believe otherwise—I can see it in his eyes, the desperate hope that his mother might, just this once, have pure intentions. But he trusts my instincts more than his own hope.
"What have you noticed?" he asks, pulling me down beside him.
"Small things. People who were friendly are suddenly distant, invitations that feel like afterthoughts, Victoria Chen cancelled our call and hasn't rescheduled."
I settle my head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart.
"I can't prove anything. That's the point—Eleanor never leaves fingerprints. But I can feel it, Xander. She's laying the groundwork for something."
His fingers trace absent patterns on my bare shoulder.
"The board meeting next week. Harrison mentioned some concerns about family stability affecting company confidence. I thought it was just the security situation, but now..."
He pauses, and I feel his body tense beneath me.
"She visited Harrison in his office three days ago. I didn't think much of it at the time—she drops by occasionally, has lunch with some of the older board members who've known her for decades. But Harrison's assistant mentioned she was there for hours. And then yesterday, I heard she had coffee with Mitchell and his wife."
My stomach drops. "She's making the rounds."
"She's talking to them," Xander says quietly, the realization settling over him like a weight. "Planting seeds, making them wonder if you're a liability. Not directly—she'd never be that obvious. But concern-trolling about the security situation, about how the stress might be affecting my judgment, about whether the family drama is distracting me from company priorities."
"You're not a liability. You're the reason this company has a human face. The charity work alone—"
"Doesn't matter if she convinces the right people that I'm somehow a threat to your judgment."
I prop myself up on one elbow, meeting his eyes.
"Think about it. She can't attack you directly—you're too valuable, too essential. But me? The girl who hid your children, who came from nothing, who somehow ended up with access to everything? I'm the weak point, Xander. The angle of attack."
His jaw tightens. "I won't let her."
"You might not be able to stop her, not directly. If she moves through board members, through social networks, through people who owe her favors she's been collecting for decades—what are our options? We can't exactly demand she stop being herself."
We talk, strategize. My head returns to his chest, his fingers continuing their absent patterns on my shoulder.
The conversation drifts from Eleanor's machinations to board vulnerabilities to protective measures we haven't yet considered.
"We need allies," I say. "People who know Eleanor's tactics, who won't be swayed by her concern-trolling. Margaret handled her well—maybe there are others."
"Archie's never trusted her. He's been warning me about her influence for years."
Xander's voice rumbles beneath my ear.
"And Robert sees through manipulation the way most people see through glass. Military training, maybe. He was watching her the entire time she was here, cataloguing every move."
"Good. We build a circle she can't penetrate, people who answer to us, not to Hale family history."
Somewhere in the planning, his hand stills on my shoulder, and that’s when my breath catches. Our eyes meet in the dim light, and the conversation shifts without either of us deciding to shift it.
His fingers trace from my shoulder to my collarbone, down to the curve of my breast. My hand flattens against his chest, feeling his heart rate quicken beneath my palm.
"We should probably sleep," I whisper, making no move to stop him.
"Probably." His thumb brushes across my nipple. "Do you want to sleep?"
"No." I pull myself up, swinging my leg over his hips until I'm straddling him. "I want to forget about your mother for a few hours. Can you help me with that?"
His hands grip my waist, pulling me down against him.
"I can try."