Chapter 7 - THE MATRIARCH'S ARRIVAL
Eleanor looked down at the little boy holding onto my skirt. For a long, agonizing moment, the room held its breath. I expected a cruel remark, a sneer, a rejection.
Instead, Eleanor’s expression faltered.
Leo was staring back at her with those striking gray-green eyes. Caldwell eyes. But it wasn't just Ethan's eyes; they were the eyes of Ethan's late father, the man Eleanor had loved fiercely until his premature death.
The heavy cane trembled slightly in her grip.
"What is his name?" Eleanor asked, her voice losing its sharp edge, dropping to a breathless whisper.
"Leo," Ethan answered cautiously.
Eleanor took a slow step forward. I tensed, ready to pull Leo away, but Ethan's hand rested reassuringly on the small of my back. Eleanor crouched down, a difficult feat for her aged joints, until she was eye-level with my son.
"Leo," she repeated softly. "Do you know who I am?"
Leo shook his head. "No."
"I am your grandmother," she said, and a single tear escaped her iron control, tracing a path down her wrinkled cheek.
It was the turning point. The ice queen had melted. Victoria had foolishly assumed that Eleanor would side with high society and wealth, but she had underestimated a widow's desperate love for her family's bloodline. Eleanor stood up, swiping the tear away with impeccable dignity.
"Ethan," she said, her voice commanding once more, but entirely different in tone. "Call the PR team. We are hosting a gala next weekend to formally introduce my grandson to New York society."
She turned her piercing gaze on me. "And you, Rosa. We have much to discuss. If you are to be a Caldwell, you will need a proper wardrobe. And... I suppose I owe you an apology."
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It was the closest thing to a miracle I had ever witnessed.
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