Chapter 6 Unpredictable

The mention of medication, those dreaded pills that Irene refused to acknowledge, hit harder than any of them expected. Louis shifted uncomfortably, feeling the weight of the question. It was always a touchy subject one that even he struggled to talk about with Irene. He took a moment, looking away, unable to hide the sadness in his eyes. It was never easy to discuss Irene's health with anyone, let alone with her mother, who seemed to carry the burden of that responsibility alone.

He exhaled slowly before answering, his voice thick with emotion. "She's... she's been skipping meals, Eleanor. I've noticed it. And as for her medication" He paused, running a hand through his hair, not sure how to phrase it without breaking her heart. "She's refusing to take it again, like she always does. It's the same pattern. She believes that if she ignores it, it'll go away...that she can handle everything on her own."

Eleanor's face faltered at his words, and a single tear slipped down her cheek, unnoticed by Louis. She had seen the signs for so long, but hearing it from someone else made it all the more real. Irene's stubbornness, her refusal to admit vulnerability, had always been a source of conflict between them. It wasn't that Irene didn't love her Eleanor knew that. It was that she loved her too much to let her see the weakness she thought she had to hide.

"I don't understand why she won't listen to me," Eleanor whispered, her voice breaking. "She's always been so strong, but sometimes, I wonder if it's too much for her... too much for any one person to carry."

Louis could feel the pain radiating from her, the helplessness that came from loving someone who was determined to shut everyone out. "She doesn't want to be seen as fragile," he said softly, his voice filled with understanding. She's terrified of being vulnerable, of letting anyone see her hurt. She's built this wall around herself...but it's not something we can break through easily. She has to let it happen when she's ready."

Eleanor closed her eyes, the tears finally coming freely as she took a shaky breath. "I don't want to lose her, Louis. She's my only child... my everything." She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, trying to compose herself, but the emotion was too overwhelming. "I just want her to be happy. I just want her to trust me enough to let me in."

Louis stepped closer, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder as he offered her a soft smile, though the sadness in his own eyes mirrored hers. "I know, Eleanor. I know how much you love her. We all do. But you have to give her time. She's not ready yet. She'll come around eventually."

For a moment, there was silence, both of them standing in the quiet of the foyer, allowing the weight of their words to settle. But there was a glimmer of hope in Louis's words, a faint belief that one day, Irene would finally let her walls down.

Eleanor took another deep breath, wiping away the last of her tears. She nodded slowly, though the concern in her eyes never fully disappeared. "I hope you're right," she said quietly. "I just... I just want to be able to hold her, to tell her everything will be alright. But I don't know how to reach her anymore."

Louis gave her a sympathetic look, squeezing her shoulder gently. "You've done everything you can. And you'll always be there for her, just like I will. We can't force her, but we can support her, no matter what."

As they stood there, the soft sound of Irene's footsteps could be heard above them, signaling her retreat to her room. Eleanor looked up at the stairs, her heart heavy with unspoken fears for her daughter's well-being.

"She's going to be okay, Eleanor," Louis said, his voice gentle yet firm. "But we have to be patient. And we have to be there for her... even when she doesn't ask for it."

Eleanor nodded once more, taking a deep, shaky breath. She smiled faintly, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "I just wish she would let me in... Let me be her mother again."

Louis didn't have an answer for that. He could only offer his presence, his quiet support, as Eleanor gazed up the stairs, her heart torn between her desire to protect her daughter and the cold reality that Irene wasn't ready to be saved yet.

The quiet, dimly lit staircase creaked under Irene's weight as she made her way downstairs. The earlier tension in the house had settled into a heavy silence, but the unspoken emotions still lingered in the air. Irene's mind was a whirlpool of thoughts, but she had decided to focus on one thing for now the dinner.

She found her mother sitting at the dining table, looking up at her with a mix of expectation and concern. The woman had clearly been waiting for her, but Irene's eyes were only on the food already laid out before her. She didn't want to deal with any more questions not just yet. The silence between them was comfortable enough for now.

Without saying much, Irene took a seat, her body stiff and guarded as always. Her gaze flickered briefly to her mother, and then she exhaled deeply, her expression softening just slightly. "I've made sure that the guest room is ready for you,"she said after a beat, her tone colder than she intended. "You shouldn't drive home tonight. It's late."

Eleanor blinked in surprise, and for a moment, it looked like she might say something else. But she hesitated, her face softening. "Irene... are you sure? You've always valued your privacy..."

Irene raised an eyebrow, the tiniest smirk pulling at her lips. "I'm sure. Just don't get too comfortable. You're only allowed to stay tonight. You can go back to your husband's house tomorrow." She didn't want to sound harsh, but the words slipped out before she could stop them.

Her mother smiled, a mix of relief and gratitude flooding her expression. "Of course, sweetheart, whatever you want."

Irene gave a small nod, her eyes avoiding her mother's gaze as she reached for her plate. As she did, Eleanor took a sip of water, then placed the glass down gently. "How's the new collection coming along?"

Irene stilled for a fraction of a second before continuing to eat. "It's on schedule," she said smoothly.

"I saw the teasers," Eleanor continued. "They're already making waves. People are desperate to get a glimpse of it."

Irene wiped her mouth with a napkin. "That's the goal."

Louis, sitting across from her, smirked. "Translation: She's a perfectionist and won't admit she's spent extra hours tweaking every last detail."

Irene shot him a glare. "And yet, you're still alive to talk about it."

Eleanor chuckled softly, but she didn't miss the slight hesitation in Irene's response. Was she truly satisfied with the collection, or was she just pushing herself harder than usual?

Louis, catching Eleanor's silent observation, changed the subject slightly. "Speaking of which, you've been consulting too, right? How's that going?"

Irene shrugged. "The usual. The companies are pleased. But as long as they don't expect anything more than my expertise, I don't care."

Eleanor nodded, watching her daughter carefully. Irene was always like this controlled, calculated, distant. But tonight, something in her tone told Eleanor that there was more to it.

For now, she let it be.

"I'm proud of you, Irene."

Irene didn't respond, but for a brief second, her guarded expression wavered. Just for a second.

Louis saw it. Eleanor saw it.

And then, as quickly as it appeared, it was gone.

The sudden ringing of Irene's phone shattered the fragile silence in the room. Without a moment's hesitation, she reached for it, her movements smooth and controlled, as if she had been expecting the call.

But the moment she placed the phone to her ear, everything about her changed.

The subtle warmth in her face...what little had been there...vanished completely. Her expression hardened, her posture straightened, and the air around her shifted, turning sharp and commanding. An unshakable authority settled over her, like an icy veil draping over a queen preparing for war.

Louis had seen it before, but it never ceased to intrigue him. And Eleanor, though well aware of her daughter's ability to switch personas at will, couldn't stop herself from watching in quiet admiration, mixed with the ever-present longing of a mother who barely recognized the child before her.

"Speak." Irene's voice was crisp, efficient utterly devoid of warmth.

The call was from I.V.Y's warehouse manager, a woman who had long since learned that when dealing with Irene Lancaster, there was no need for pleasantries.

"Miss Lancaster, the materials for the sample pieces of the new collection have arrived," the manager reported. "Would you like them delivered to you, or will you be overseeing production at the warehouse?"

The question was asked out of habit. Irene never set foot in the warehouse.