Chapter 3 - The Wolves at the Gate
"THE MONSTER IN THE SILK SUIT: The Treacherous Plot to Destroy an Unborn Heir!"
The threat echoed in Michael’s ears like a cold, sharp blade. He slowly lowered the phone, his face pale, his jaw locked in a grim, dangerous line.
He didn't say a word to Eleanor about the call. She was already too weak, her heart rate monitor ticking slightly faster every time she became stressed. He couldn't afford to let her panic.
“Michael?” Eleanor asked, noticing the sudden rigidity in his posture. “What is it? Is it the Miami deal?”
“No,” Michael said, forcing a calm, reassuring smile to his face as he pocketed the phone. “Nothing that matters. Just business. I’m having Marcus bring the SUV around to the private ambulance bay. We’re leaving through the basement. I want to avoid any paparazzi.”
Within an hour, Eleanor was nestled in the back of Michael’s armored, climate-controlled SUV, wrapped in a cashmere blanket that smelled faintly of cedar and expensive cologne—smells that brought back a rush of painful, bittersweet memories for her.
As they drove out of the city, leaving the chaotic Manhattan skyline behind for the quiet, rolling hills of the Hudson Valley, Eleanor fell into a deep, exhausted sleep. Michael sat beside her, his eyes never leaving her pale face, his hand resting near hers but not touching, respecting her boundary.
But while Eleanor slept, Michael’s world was exploding.
He turned on his tablet, keeping the screen dimmed. The internet was already on fire.
"EXCLUSIVES: Billionaire Michael Sterling’s Ex-Wife Collapses in Manhattan—Is She Carrying a Secret Heir?"
"SCANDAL: Sources Claim Eleanor Hayes’ Pregnancy is a Sham to Extort the Sterling Empire!"
The headlines were vicious, carefully crafted to paint Eleanor as a manipulative gold-digger who had targeted the city’s most eligible bachelor. There were photos of her on the sidewalk—not the photos of Michael holding her, but cropped, unflattering images of her looking disheveled, reaching for fallen groceries, looking desperate.
Michael’s phone buzzed with a text from Marcus, his head of security.
“Sir, we tracked the source of the media leak. It didn’t come from a tabloid stringer. It was leaked directly from an IP address registered to the Sinclair Group.”
The Sinclair Group.
Julianna Sinclair.
Michael’s fist clenched so hard his knuckles popped. Julianna was the daughter of the Miami developer he was supposed to meet today. More than that, she was the woman his mother had been pushing him to marry for the last six months. It was a merger of convenience, a way to unite two real estate empires. Michael had never agreed to it, but he had never explicitly shut it down either, too busy with work to care about his mother’s matchmaking.
Julianna had clearly seen Eleanor’s return as a direct threat to her future crown.
Michael dialed a number. “Marcus. Get me Julianna Sinclair on the line. Now.”
A minute later, Julianna’s smooth, heavily synthetic voice came through his earpiece.
“Michael, darling!” she cooed. “I was so worried when you didn’t show up in Miami. My father was absolutely furious, but I told him you must have had an emergency. Is everything alright? I saw some dreadful, trashy rumors online about your ex…”
“Shut up, Julianna,” Michael said, his voice flat and terrifyingly cold.
The silence on the other end was instant.
“If you or your father’s PR team release one more article, one more quote, or one more leaked photo of Eleanor, I will personally pull out of the Miami development,” Michael said, each word a slow, deliberate drop of venom. “And then, I will short Sinclair Group stock until your father is forced to sell his yachts just to pay his office rent. Do you understand me?”
“Michael!” Julianna gasped, her voice shrill with indignation. “How dare you! I was trying to help you! That woman is a ghost from your past. She’s trying to ruin your reputation! She’s carrying a child that could belong to anyone—”
“She is carrying my child,” Michael growled. “And if I ever hear your voice, or see your name in relation to my family again, I will destroy you. This is your only warning.”
He slammed the phone down, his breathing ragged.
He looked over at Eleanor. She had stirred, her brow furrowing in a nightmare.
“Michael…” she muttered in her sleep, her fingers twitching. “Don’t go… please don’t go…”
Michael’s heart broke. He reached out, gently capturing her hand. Her fingers immediately wrapped around his, holding on with a desperate, childlike grip.
“I’m here, El,” he whispered, using the old nickname he hadn’t used in years. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
They arrived at the Hudson Valley estate just as the sun was setting, casting a warm, golden glow over the massive stone manor. It was a place Michael had bought years ago, intending to use it as a weekend getaway for them, but they had never spent a single night there. It had sat empty, a monument to a future he had been too busy to build.
Dr. Evans’ recommended obstetrician, Dr. Aris, was already waiting with a team of two private nurses. They quickly set Eleanor up in the master bedroom, which had been converted into a state-of-the-art medical suite in less than three hours.
As the nurses adjusted her IV and began administering the specialized nutrient therapy, Michael stood on the balcony, looking out over the dark woods surrounding the property.
Marcus walked up behind him, his expression grim.
“Sir, we swept the area. The security perimeter is secure. But I have some worrying news.”
May you like
“What is it?” Michael asked, not turning around.
“The burner phone that sent you that threat,” Marcus said, holding up a printout. “We traced the signal. It wasn’t sent from Manhattan. The ping came from a tower less than five miles from this estate. Whoever sent that message… they followed us here. They’re watching the house.”
