Beneath The Veil

The crystal paperweight shattered against the wall, missing Esme's head by inches. She didn't flinch. After eighteen years under Eleanor Baldwin's roof, she had learned that showing fear only encouraged her grandmother's cruelty.

"Look at me when I'm speaking to you," Eleanor hissed, her aristocratic features twisted with contempt. At seventy-five, she still stood ramrod straight, silver hair perfectly coiffed, her Chanel suit impeccable despite the violence of her outburst. "Do you think I spent a fortune on your education so you could slouch like some common street urchin?"

Esme lifted her gaze, careful to keep her expression neutral. "I'm sorry, Grandmother."

"Sorry." Eleanor's laugh was brittle. "That's all you've ever been. A sorry excuse for a Baldwin."

The morning sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Eleanor's study, illuminating the oil portraits of Baldwin ancestors that lined the walls. Judges, senators, industry titans, generations of power and prestige that, according to Eleanor, Esme was single-handedly destroying with her existence.

Eleanor circled her desk, each tap of her heels against the marble floor a countdown to another explosion. "The Baldwin name meant something before you came along. Now look at us."

She slammed a manila folder on the desk and shoved it toward Esme. "Your parents built this company with their blood and sweat. The least you could do is not destroy their legacy the way you destroyed their lives."

The familiar accusation sliced through Esme with practiced precision. Eighteen years, and the pain still felt fresh each time.

"I was eight years old," Esme whispered, her voice barely audible.

"And they were rushing home from their anniversary dinner for your birthday," Eleanor snapped. "If you hadn't insisted on that ridiculous party, if you hadn't been so demanding, they would still be here."

Esme swallowed the defense that rose to her lips. There was no point. In Eleanor's revisionist history, Charles and Margaret Baldwin had died not because of a drunk driver who crossed the center line, but because their spoiled daughter couldn't wait until the following day to celebrate her birthday.

"Open it," Eleanor commanded, nodding toward the folder.

With trembling fingers, Esme flipped open the cover. Inside was a contract, elaborate legal language filling page after page, with a small Post-it marking where she should sign. Clipped to the front was a photograph of a man with sharp, aristocratic features, cold blue eyes, and a mouth that looked like it rarely smiled.

Her heart stopped. Kaiden Walton.

"You're getting married," Eleanor announced, satisfaction lacing her tone. "To him. In six weeks."

Esme looked up, certain she had misheard. "Married? To Kaiden Walton?"

"Don't act so surprised. It's not as though you have suitors lining up at the door." Eleanor straightened her pearl necklace. "The Waltons need our social connections and the legitimacy of the Baldwin name. We need their money. It's a perfect arrangement."

"But..."

"But nothing," Eleanor cut her off. "Baldwin Industries is on the verge of collapse thanks to your father's poor investments before he died. The Walton Group's merger offer is the only thing standing between us and bankruptcy."

She leaned forward, her perfectly manicured nails digging into the expensive wood of her desk. "Listen carefully, Esme. For once in your pathetic life, don't ruin this. Be charming. Be obedient. Be whatever he wants. If this merger falls through because of you, I'll make sure you regret it for the rest of your days."

The threat hung in the air between them. Esme knew it wasn't empty. Eleanor controlled every aspect of her life, her trust fund, her residence, and her very identity. She had nowhere else to go, no one to turn to.

"Do you understand me?" Eleanor's voice dropped to a dangerous whisper.

"Yes, Grandmother."

"Good." Eleanor straightened, instantly transforming from tyrant to sophisticated socialite as she moved toward the door. "The wedding planner will be here tomorrow. I've already selected your dress. Try not to look so... plain when you meet with her."

When the door clicked shut behind Eleanor, Esme finally allowed herself to breathe. Her hands trembled as she pulled the photograph closer, tracing the strong jawline, the intense eyes that seemed to pierce straight through her.

Kaiden Walton. Thirty-two years old. Billionaire heir to the Walton Group. Notorious workaholic. Rumored to be ruthless in the boardroom and the bedroom.

And the man she'd been secretly in love with for the past three years.

Esme had met him only once, at a charity gala where she'd been volunteering instead of attending as a Baldwin. He'd bumped into her while she was carrying a tray of champagne, steadying her before any could spill. For five brief seconds, his eyes had met hers, and he'd smiled, a real smile, not the practiced one he wore in photographs. Then someone had called his name, and he was gone.

She'd followed his career since then, clipping articles about his business successes, watching interviews where he discussed his philanthropic work. It was silly, childish, a fantasy that helped her survive Eleanor's cruelty.

And now she was marrying him.

"Maybe this is my parents' blessing," she whispered to the photograph, allowing herself a small smile. "Maybe they're finally giving me a chance at happiness."