Elena instinctively stepped back, shielding the boys with her body as shards of glass scattered across the floor.
“Ma’am, please,” she said, her voice trembling but dignified. “Mr. Harrington needs rest. If you want to yell, do it outside—but respect his pain.”
The silence that followed was suffocating.
From his bed, Alexander felt his throat tighten. Elena—who earned barely above minimum wage and sent most of it to her sick mother—was defending him like a lioness, while his wife planned to discard him like trash.
Victoria stepped closer, invading Elena’s space, spitting each word into her face.
“The notary is coming at nine tomorrow. Once this useless man signs over control of the offshore accounts, you and these kids are out on the street. Enjoy your last night under this roof.”
She slammed the door so hard the windows shook.
Elena exhaled shakily and rushed to Alexander’s bedside. She gently wiped the sweat from his forehead.