Daphne’s POV
Eleanor settles deeper into the chair across from my desk, crossing her legs with the kind of leisure that belongs to someone who has all the time in the world.
Her observations come wrapped in silk, but they land like razors.
"You know what I've found most interesting through all of this?" Her voice is conversational, almost pleasant. "How convenient your pregnancy has been. For my purposes, I mean."
My jaw clenches. I don't respond, don't give her the satisfaction.
"A swollen belly does more to undermine credibility than any whisper campaign ever could."
She examines her manicured nails, the picture of casual observation.
"People see you waddle into meetings—and yes, dear, you do waddle now, don't pretend otherwise—and they automatically question everything. Your stamina, your judgment, your ability to lead a company when you're clearly uncomfortable in your own body."
My hands curl into fists beneath my desk, nails digging into my palms hard enough to hurt. The pain keeps me grounded.
Eleanor continues like she's discussing the weather.
"You can be brilliant, accomplished, proven—and none of it matters once you start showing. Because then you're not Daphne the executive. You're Daphne the pregnant woman. And pregnant women are fragile, compromised."
She says the last word like it's a diagnosis, a verdict.
"The best part?" She leans forward slightly, conspiratorial. "You did all the work for me. Every meeting you attended with that belly growing larger. Every decision you made while visibly pregnant. You undermined yourself simply by existing in a body that refused to cooperate with your ambitions."
I want to scream at her, want to throw something. But my voice, when it comes, is steady, cold. "Are you finished?"
"Not quite." Eleanor settles back, that infuriating smile still playing at her lips.
"I should probably confess—I have been making calls. Expressing motherly concern to the right people. Board members, investors, colleagues who value my opinion."
The admission lands like a physical blow even though I already knew. Knowing and hearing her say it out loud are two different wounds.
Her voice drops, becomes almost gentle. "I've suggested that perhaps someone who truly cared about their child would make different choices. Would prioritize the baby's survival over their own pride."
The words steal my breath. This is the narrative she's been spinning. She's weaponized my most vulnerable place—my fear for Hope, my terror that I'm failing her, my constant calculation of whether every decision I make is hurting my daughter's chances.
The cruelty is breathtaking in its precision.
"So yes, Daphne. I orchestrated your little board meeting ambush today. I planted every seed of doubt that bloomed in that conference room, and I created the narrative that you're too compromised to lead, too emotional to be trusted, too pregnant to be competent."
She pauses, letting that sink in like poison.
"And I did it all while positioning myself as the concerned mother-in-law who simply wants what's best for her grandchild."
I grip the armrests of my chair so hard my knuckles go white. "Why are you telling me this? Why admit it now?"
"Because there's nothing you can do about it. You can't prove I made those calls, can't trace the whisper campaign back to me, can't demonstrate that I influenced the board's decision."
Her smile widens, showing teeth.
"And even if you could? Fighting me means fighting someone expressing concern for your baby, which makes you look exactly as unfit as I've been suggesting."
I hate that she's right. Every move I could make plays directly into the narrative she's constructed.
I'm trapped in a cage made of my own pregnancy and people's assumptions about what that means for my capabilities.
Then Eleanor shifts. Her posture changes, becomes more casual, like she's moving from main course to dessert.
"Although, if you're looking for actual problems to solve rather than fighting battles you've already lost..." She trails off, lets the implication hang.
"What are you talking about?"
"You might want to examine it closer to home."
Eleanor's voice takes on a different quality—still poisonous, but now with an edge of genuine warning buried underneath the manipulation.
"Your assistant, for instance. Maya. Such a capable woman. Appeared so conveniently when you needed someone. Almost too convenient, wouldn't you say?"
My stomach drops. "Leave Maya out of this."
"I'm simply observing. She had impeccable credentials, excellent references, and seemed perfect for the position."
Eleanor's hands fold in her lap, a picture of innocence.
"But I've noticed interesting gaps in her background. Employment history that doesn't quite line up when you look closely. References that seem a bit too perfect, too rehearsed. Previous employers who are remarkably difficult to verify."
"You investigated her?" The words come out sharper than intended.
"I investigate everyone who enters my son's life. Surely you can't fault a mother for being thorough. I'm simply suggesting that perhaps your judgment has been compromised in more ways than one."
Eleanor stands, smooths her skirt with deliberate care.
"First you insist on continuing a pregnancy that's endangering both you and the baby. Then you hire an assistant whose background has more holes than substance. It does make one wonder what else you've missed while you've been so focused on proving everyone wrong."
She walks to the door, pauses with her hand on the frame. Turns back to deliver the final blow.
"But what do I know? I'm just an interfering mother-in-law." Her smile is pure poison. "Though if I were you, I'd take a closer look at the people you've decided to trust. Before you find out the hard way that your instincts aren't as reliable as you thought."
Then she's gone, heels clicking against the hardwood floor with the steady rhythm of a countdown. Each step echoing like a warning I can't unhear.
I sit frozen in my office, hands still gripping the armrests, staring at the empty doorway.
My first instinct is to dismiss everything Eleanor said as manipulation. To recognize it for what it is—another weapon in her arsenal, another attempt to undermine me by making me doubt the people around me.
Eleanor wants me isolated, paranoid, second-guessing every decision and every relationship.
But the seed is planted, roots already digging into the soil of my mind, spreading faster than I can stop them.
Maya appeared conveniently when we needed her. Her credentials were impeccable, almost too impeccable, her references glowing.
I remember thinking during the interview process that she was exactly what we needed, exactly when we needed it.
What if that was the mistake?
My hand moves to the mouse before I consciously decide to act. I pull up Maya's employment file—the one I reviewed when hiring her, the application and background check that seemed so thorough, so complete.
I start reading with new eyes. Not looking for reasons to trust, but looking for gaps, inconsistencies, the holes Eleanor claimed to see.
And I find them.
The previous employer listed with glowing references—when I call the main line now, it routes to a generic voicemail.
The dates of her previous position overlap slightly with another job, something I'd dismissed as a clerical error during the transition.
The university she claims to have graduated from has no record of her in their alumni database when I check—though that could be a maiden name issue, I tell myself. Could be privacy settings.
Could be. Might be. Possibly.
Or it could be exactly what Eleanor suggested—a background constructed to pass cursory inspection but crumbles under scrutiny.
I pull up her references, call the first number—disconnected.
The second goes to voicemail that sounds automated, impersonal. The third actually answers—a professional-sounding woman who confirms Maya's employment dates and performance in words that suddenly sound rehearsed now that I'm listening for it.
My hands are shaking, I press a palm to my stomach.
This could still be nothing. Could still be Eleanor planting doubt where none should exist, making me destroy a relationship with someone who's been nothing but helpful and loyal.
But what if it's not?