Chapter 6

Eleanor POV:

Blake arrived moments later, his face etched with concern as he saw Hayleigh standing defiantly in the doorway, tears already welling in her eyes. "Eleanor," he began, his voice laced with exasperation. "What are you doing here? Hayleigh is pregnant, you can't just-"

Hayleigh clung to his arm, her voice deliberately shaky. "She's trying to scare me, Blake! She wants to take everything!"

Blake sighed, a familiar weariness in his eyes. "Eleanor, please. Can we just talk inside? Both of you."

I walked past them without a word, my gaze sweeping over the interior of what used to be our home. It was stark, modern, impersonal. All the vibrant colors, the mismatched furniture, the worn edges that spoke of years of shared struggle and laughter – gone. Replaced by sleek, cold surfaces and minimalist decor. It was a mausoleum of our past.

"I needed a fresh start, Eleanor," Blake said, sensing my anger. "A new beginning. It was suffocating, all those old memories."

"Suffocating?" I repeated, my voice flat. "Or convenient? Easier to forget if there's no trace left behind." My eyes narrowed. "Where's the wooden bird? The one you carved for me when we opened the first club?"

Hayleigh, who had followed Blake in, scoffed. "Oh, that old thing? It was just junk. I probably threw it out with the rest of your... clutter. It didn't fit the new aesthetic."

My gaze snapped to her, a chilling calmness in my voice. "You threw it out?"

She flinched, taking a step back, suddenly intimidated by the quiet fury in my eyes. Blake stepped between us, instinctively shielding her. "Eleanor, don't. It's just a piece of wood. I can carve you another one." He looked genuinely confused, as if he couldn't understand why this one specific item mattered so much. He had forgotten. He had forgotten its meaning, its origin, everything.

The realization hit me harder than any of Hayleigh's provocations. He hadn't just forgotten the bird; he'd forgotten us.

"It's not just a piece of wood," I whispered, the words catching in my throat. I turned to Blake, my voice now cold and hard. "Find it, Blake. Now. Or I will tear this place apart piece by piece."

He hesitated, then sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Fine. It must be in the storage unit." He walked off towards the back room, disappearing into what used to be our bedroom.

Hayleigh, emboldened by his absence, stepped closer. "You know, my mother always told me men prefer a woman who knows her place. Someone gentle, soft. Not... a force of nature." She smiled, a saccharine sweetness that made my skin crawl. "Oh, and that bracelet." She pointed to the simple string of wooden beads interwoven with a few silver charms on my wrist, a gift from my adoptive mother, years ago. "That's exactly like the one my mother lost years ago. Her only keepsake from her own mother, who died in the accident." She moved quickly, her hand darting out to snatch it. "Give it back! It's mine!"

I caught her wrist, my grip like steel. "This was a gift from my mother. It's not yours."

"It is!" she shrieked, struggling against me, her eyes wild. "It's the only thing I have left of her! You steal everything! My man, then my family, now my mother' s bracelet!"

Just then, Blake returned, holding out the wooden bird. He saw Hayleigh struggling, heard her accusations, and his face hardened. He rushed forward, pulling her away from me, cradling her as if she were made of glass.

"Eleanor, what are you doing?" he demanded, his voice full of anger. "She's pregnant! What is wrong with you?"

Hayleigh began to sob, sinking to the floor, clutching her wrist. "She tried to hurt me, Blake! She tried to steal my mother's bracelet! It's all I have left!"

Blake knelt, stroking her hair, his eyes filled with sympathy. He looked up at me, his gaze cold. "Eleanor, just give it back. Can't you see how much it means to her?" He held out the wooden bird. "Take this. Just leave her alone. She's been through enough."

My hand trembled as I held the wooden bird. My heart was breaking, piece by agonizing piece. He was choosing her again. Constantly. Always. Over our shared history, over my own pain, over anything.

"Blake," I said, my voice barely audible. "You know this bracelet. My mother gave it to me."

He looked at the bracelet, then at Hayleigh, then back at me. A flicker of doubt crossed his face, quickly replaced by a stubborn resolve. "I'm sure she just made a mistake, Eleanor. You have so much now. Can't you just let her have this one thing?" He paused, his voice dropping, almost a threat. "Or do you really want me to throw this bird, your precious memory, out the window in front of you?"

The air was sucked from my lungs. He was threatening to destroy the last tangible piece of our shared past, the symbol of our dreams, just to appease her. He was willing to hold our memories hostage.

"You're unbelievable, Blake," I said, my voice shaking with a rage that bordered on despair. "You truly are."

"What am I supposed to do, Eleanor?" he yelled, exasperated. "You have everything! The Fryes, their money, your own empire! She has nothing after you tried to run her over, after you attacked her, after you tried to steal her family heirloom! What do you want from me?"

The unfairness of it, the sheer magnitude of his blindness, squeezed my chest. My eyes burned. "I want nothing from you, Blake," I said, my voice hoarse with unshed tears. "Just give me the bird. The one thing that's truly mine."

Hayleigh, seeing her leverage slipping, sprang up, snatching the wooden bird from Blake's hand. "No! It's mine now! Everything is mine!" She ran to the open window, her eyes wild, raising her arm as if to throw it out into the night.

I moved, a flash of desperate speed. I lunged, tackling her just as her hand released the bird. It flew in an arc, but my fingers, miraculously, closed around it mid-air. I clutched it to my chest, my body shaking with the adrenaline.

Without another word, I turned and ran out of the apartment, down the stairs, and into the pouring rain. The wooden bird, a small, fragile thing, was safe. But my heart felt shattered into a million pieces. I walked for hours, the rain mingling with my tears, until I collapsed on a cold park bench, the wooden bird clutched tight to my chest, sobbing uncontrollably. The empire, the Fryes, the supposed new life – none of it mattered. Everything was broken.