Chapter 7
Iris’s mother, Elena, had been dead two years.
No conspiracy.
No hidden murder.
A winter illness that moved too fast.
Spencer knew what her death did to the house.
He knew I became protective.
Knew Iris became the center of everything I would not compromise.
That was why he never attacked her position directly.
He worked around it.
Meredith would become wife.
Maybe mother to another child.
Then family members could begin saying what families always say when power is at stake.
A son carries differently.
A blended branch strengthens alliances.
Iris needs a quieter childhood.
Nothing immediate.
Nothing openly cruel.
Just language.
Then eventually geography.
Schooling.
Household changes.
More time away from the central estate.
The same way powerful families move children without ever saying remove.
I looked at Meredith.
“Did you ever discuss sending Iris away?”
Her eyes widened.
“No.”
I believed her.
Then Spencer spoke.
“Not away.”
I turned.
“Careful.”
“Boarding school.”
There it was.
He had already planned it.
Meredith stared.
“She’s four.”
“Eventually.”
Temporary.
Eventually.
Always words that make control sound patient.
“Why?”
“Because you can’t build a new household while everything revolves around Elena’s child.”
Meredith slapped him.
I did not stop her.
He stared.
Good.
Then she whispered:
“She is Adrian’s child.”
Spencer laughed.
“And you would always be second to her.”
There.
That was what he had fed Meredith privately.
Not succession.
Jealousy.
Iris as rival for love.
He had manipulated Meredith by making motherhood, marriage, and belonging competitive.
Did Meredith accept it?
Partly.
The bread.
The tea.
The forced obedience.
Those actions already showed she had started resenting a four-year-old for occupying emotional space.
Meredith looked at me.
“I never wanted her gone.”
“No.”
I kept my voice low.
“You just started treating her like she needed to earn breakfast by helping you manage me.”
She broke.
Good.
Not because I wanted pain.
Because denial had finally ended.
I looked at Spencer.
“You used her insecurity.”
“Yes.”
At least he was honest now.
Then:
“You used my exhaustion.”
“Yes.”
“And my daughter.”
He said nothing.
May you like
I leaned closer.
“That silence is the only intelligent thing you’ve done today.”
