Chapter 8

Isabella Whitlock froze, her rehearsed lines stuck in her throat. She hadn’t expected Eleanor Knight to agree so readily.

Sebastian Sinclair was equally taken aback. Before he could speak, Isabella had already looped her arm through his, pouting, “Sebastian, even your wife agreed.”

His gaze flickered to Eleanor, brows furrowing slightly. “Eleanor, are you sure?”

“Whatever.” Eleanor didn’t even look up, signaling the maid to serve breakfast before retreating to her room.

Isabella practically skipped off to pack her things, while Sebastian spent the entire morning finding excuses to knock on Eleanor’s door.

“She’ll disturb you if she moves in.”

“If you’re unhappy, just say so.”

“Eleanor, I told you—none of them compare to you.”

Finally, Eleanor pressed her fingers to her temple, exasperated. “I said I don’t care.”

Sebastian’s breath hitched. He seized her wrist. “Why don’t you care? You weren’t like this before.”

Eleanor gently pulled free, her smile light and indifferent. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

That evening, Isabella moved in. Eleanor watched as she bossed the staff around with an air of triumph, then silently tore a page from the wall calendar.

Rip—

The sound sent a sharp pang through Sebastian’s chest. He stared at the dwindling stack of calendar pages. “Is there some special date marked?”

“Just tearing it for fun,” Eleanor replied airily.

Sebastian shot to his feet. “I’ll send her back.” He stormed upstairs, and after some muffled words, Isabella emerged red-eyed, dragging her suitcase behind her.

For the next few days, Sebastian didn’t come home.

Eleanor methodically packed her belongings. Three days before the end, she visited the notary. Two days before, she deposited her jewelry into a bank vault.