Ella was staring at herself in the mirror when the door creaked open. She jolted upright and turned back to see who it was.
"Lady Ella, you've been called to come over to the dining hall. Dinner is ready," the maid's soft voice slipped into the room.
Ella blinked. 'Dinner!?' She thought as it was the first time in a month she was invited to eat, since she was eating most of the time in her room.
"Okay, I'll be there," Ella replied as the maid left. She stared at the window, where a faint glow from the sun shone in a sleepy orange haze.
Ella fixed herself to look presentable before leaving her room. The corridor felt unusually quiet that night. The air felt heavy, like the halls themselves were holding their breath.
"God, I'm nervous," Ella whispered, breathing deeply. Since she hadn't seen her mother and was worried about their meeting, it somehow excited her.
Ella followed the soft clicking of dishes until she reached the tall double doors of the dining room.
When both doors opened, Ella instantly felt the change.
The long table was set beautifully. Silverware shining, candles flickering gently, but the warmth a family dinner typically carried simply wasn't there.
A strange tension floated around the room like an unseen smoke.
At the head of the table sat their father, Richard, with an intense gaze, but somehow, he looked too pale.
"Mama," Ella muttered, her eyes softening upon seeing her mother sitting on the left side of the table, while Cindy and Anna were on the right side.
"Ella," Eleanor forced a smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. She gestured for Ella to sit beside her.
Ella scurried and settled herself beside her mother. She was expecting a warm welcome, but was relatively ignored. "Mama, is something wrong?" She asked.
Eleanor didn't reply, but squeezed her hand under the table—a sign for her to be silent, but also an assurance.
Ella's smile dropped, but she remained composed. Her eyes never left her mother, and that was when she noticed a couple of changes in Eleanor's face.
Eleanor's eyes were framed by dark, heavy eye bags, the kind that only formed after nights without sleep. Her skin looked pale, almost drained of life, and the fine lines around her mouth creased in a way that only exhaustion and stress could carve.
Ella's chest tightened. She wanted to ask her mother what she was doing to reach that point of exhaustion, but was afraid it would be seen as rude.
Richard sat stiffly in the center and didn't even bother looking at Ella. His attention was on his fork, turning over and over between his fingers.
On the other hand, Cindy and Ella were chattering with forced delight, each laugh a little too bright, a little too sharp.
But the brother's chair was empty.
Completely empty.
No plate, no glass, and not even a napkin.
After a couple of seconds, a group of servants entered the room with food trays. They began spreading around and placed the dishes at the dinner table. Their movement was cautious, as if they were scared to make a single noise.
The last of the dishes was set down, and the servants bowed before silently retreating.
Only when the doors shut behind them did Richard finally lift his head.
Richard's eyes, once sharp and commanding, now held something murkier—a bit of irritation, disappointment, and something Ella couldn't name.
"Ahem," Richard cleared his throat. Twice. Then with a hard exhale, he set his fork down.
"Eleanor," Richard said in a tone far too calm. "Shall we address the matter now?"
Ella stiffened. Cindy and Anna went silent instantly, their smiles freezing like porcelain masks.
Eleanor straightened slightly. "Richard… must we do this during dinner?"
"Dinner," Richard repeated with a dry, humorless smile. "Eleanor, everything you do is during dinner, after dinner, before dinner, between your endless fussing."
Ella's heart sank. 'Fussing? Mama?' she thought as her eyes glanced between Richard and her mother.
"Look at you," Richard's words were sharp. "You've grown tiresome, Eleanor. Tired-looking, nervous, unfocused, and you've only been here in my manor for a month!"
Ella's eyes widened. "Father—"
A firm squeeze from Eleanor's hand sliced Ella immediately to stop her from speaking. Eleanor didn't even blink or change her current emotionless expression.
Richard leaned back, gaze narrowing at his wife as though she were an inconvenience he had simply tolerated for too long.
"You've become… sloppy," Richard said flatly. "And I suppose I should not be surprised. You never measured up to my first wife, Bianca."
Ella felt her breath catch. 'How dare he compare Mama to his dead wife!' She thought, lips trembling as she wanted to say those words out loud.
Even Cindy's and Anna's faces faltered, their eyes flicking quickly to Eleanor.
However, Ella saw how Cindy was trying her best not to laugh, which didn't sit well with her.
The room grew so heavy that it smothered.
Eleanor remained quiet. She didn't defend herself, didn't argue or even flinch at those hard words. She lowered her head slightly as though accepting Richard's every word like a duty she had no right to protest.
Ella felt something hot rise in her chest, anger, hurt, confusion, all tangled into a knot inside her. She wanted to puke, but swallowed it right back.
"Papa, that's—" Ella tried again, but Richard lifted one hand, silencing her with a dismissive gesture.
"Bianca was refined," Richard went on as though reminiscing about a prized possession. "Graceful. Posed. She never let the household fall into disarray."
Then Richard's gaze sharpened.
"Not like you, Eleanor."
Eleanor swallowed, her lips pressed into a thin line. But still, she said nothing.
Ella's mouth hung open in shock. She stared at her mother. The heavy eyelids, the pale cheeks, the hollow fatigue—she was trying to hold everything together. Yet Richard made it sound as if she were a burden full of flaws.
"Papa, please stop," Ella whispered, unable to hold it in any longer.
Richard lifted his fork, but his hand trembled slightly. "I speak only the truth. Eleanor knows it. She—"