Chapter 7 Repeat Yourself And You're Fired

Irene would have had them sent over. It was far more convenient, and she preferred working in solitude. But with her mother here, that wasn't an option.

Eleanor wasn't careful enough.

She tried, yes. But her concern for Irene's sickness always got the better of her. And Irene couldn't afford even the slightest slip. She had spent years keeping her condition hidden, guarding it like a well-kept secret locked behind an impenetrable vault.

One wrong word, one moment of misplaced worry, and people would start asking questions.

Irene wouldn't allow that.

Her expression didn't waver as she made her decision. "I'll be coming to the warehouse tomorrow morning. Have everything prepared before my arrival."

Silence.

A second passed. Then another.

"...P-Pardon me, Miss Lancaster?" the manager finally asked, her voice tinged with disbelief.

Irene's gaze darkened.

"Repeat yourself, and you're fired."

The manager's breath caught in her throat.

Louis raised an eyebrow. Eleanor's lips parted slightly in shock.

Irene Lancaster had never-not once-worked from the warehouse.

The manager, who had been handling direct reports to Irene for years, still struggled to speak to her without feeling like she was walking on glass. But now? With the unexpected news and the ice in Irene's voice pressing down on her like a weight? It was worse than ever.

"I...I understand, Miss Lancaster," the manager stammered. "Everything will be ready before your arrival."

Irene ended the call without another word, placing the phone back down with the same fluid grace.

But the room was heavy.

Eleanor was watching her daughter, unreadable emotions swirling in her gaze. Louis was still staring, like he couldn't believe what he had just heard.

"You're going over to the warehouse?" Eleanor asked, her brows drawing together slightly.

Irene's gaze flickered toward her mother, and in an instant, the coldness she had reserved for business extended to Eleanor.

Her entire aura turned frigid.

Eleanor felt it immediately, that sudden shift, like a wall slamming down between them. It was nothing new, but that didn't make it any easier to bear.

"Yes."

"You usually have them brought here," Eleanor pointed out, tilting her head slightly, her brows furrowing in concern. "Why the sudden change?"

Irene held her stare for a moment before looking away, her voice as sharp as ever. "Because I don't need you making careless mistakes."

Eleanor froze, her expression shifting in quiet surprise. "Irene..."

"This is because of you. You let your concern for my health cloud your judgment," Irene continued, cutting through whatever her mother had been about to say. "You don't think before you speak, and I can't afford that. Not now. Not ever."

Louis, who had been silently observing, exhaled softly. He knew Irene had no filter, especially with her mother, but the bluntness of her words still hit hard.

Eleanor, however, didn't flinch. If anything, her gaze softened, though her voice was laced with frustration. "I just worry about you."

"And that worry makes you reckless," Irene countered, her tone as cold as ever. "I can't afford recklessness, Mother."

For a moment, Eleanor looked like she wanted to say more, to argue. But instead, she sighed, looking away as if willing herself to let it go.

Irene didn't say anything else. She didn't need to. The conversation was over as far as she was concerned.

Louis shook his head slightly, amusement flickering in his eyes. "You really don't hold back, do you?"

Irene shot him a look, but there was no real annoyance in it. Just a hint of exasperation. "Why should I?"

Louis smirked but said nothing more. Eleanor, still quiet, merely reached for her glass of water, her mind clearly elsewhere.

And just like that, the silence returned.

--------

The dining room had settled into a quiet, almost peaceful rhythm. The conversation between Irene, her mother, and Louis had died down, and for a fleeting moment, it seemed like the night would finally end without further interruptions.

Irene, despite her exhaustion, had planned to retreat upstairs and go through a few of her sketches. She needed to make some final adjustments to the designs floating in her mind. But as she lifted her glass of water to her lips, her phone rang again.

She closed her eyes, exhaling slowly through her nose.

What now?

She was tired. Drained. Worn out from the meaningless ball her parents had dragged her to using their tears as leverage. The entire evening had been a waste of her time, and the last thing she needed was another pointless conversation.

She picked up her phone, barely glancing at the screen before answering.

"If you're calling to ask whether I threw your wife outside in the middle of the night," she said flatly, "then let me save you the trouble I didn't." She set her glass down with a soft clink. "I'm not that heartless."

Silence stretched on the other end of the line.

Then...laughter.

A deep, knowing chuckle.

Her mother and Louis exchanged glances because they knew Irene well enough to understand the irony in her words.

She was that heartless.

That was precisely why her mother still being here tonight was something worth raising eyebrows over.

Alexander Lancaster, however, was thoroughly entertained. "Well," he said, amusement lacing his voice, "I'm glad you didn't. And if I say I wasn't worried, that would be a lie."

Irene remained silent, waiting.

Her father wasn't the type to call for small talk. He had a reason, and she had no interest in dragging out the conversation any longer than necessary.

"As for why I called," Alexander continued, his tone shifting slightly, "I was wondering if you'd be able to stop by the company tomorrow?. There's something I want to discuss with you."

Irene, still barely paying attention, responded immediately. "Yes."

Dismissive. Uninterested.

She ended the call before he could say another word.

And in that exact moment, three pairs of eyes went wide.

Eleanor, who had just lifted her glass, nearly dropped it. Her fingers trembled as she set it back down, her eyes flickering

Alexander Lancaster sat in his home office, staring at his phone like it had grown a second head. He blinked once. Then twice. Then a third time.

Because... she agreed?

Just like that?

No arguments? No cold rejection? No sarcastic remarks about how she didn't work for free?

He had spent the past hour crafting a plan a strategy to get her to say yes. He had prepared excuses, persuasive words, even emotional tactics if necessary. But all of that... wasted. Because Irene had simply agreed.

Louis, on the other hand, was outright staring.

Because as far as they knew, Irene didn't step into anyone's company unless her consultation fee had been paid in advance.

Not even if that company belonged to family.

Yet here she was, accepting the request without hesitation.

Eleanor, finally finding her voice, hesitantly spoke. "Irene...are you feeling alright?"

Irene didn't answer.

Instead she pushed her chair back, rising gracefully to her feet. As she did, she turned to Louis, her voice calm yet commanding.

"Louis, set my schedule for tomorrow."

Louis, still mildly surprised, snapped out of his thoughts and nodded. "Got it."

And then, just like that, Irene was gone.

As Eleanor watched Irene ascend the stairs, her mind replayed the moment that had shattered what little warmth remained between them.

"I don't need you making careless mistakes."

Those words. That voice.

So cold. So sharp. So final.

But what hurt the most wasn't just the words...it was the way Irene had looked at her when she said them. That piercing, accusing gaze. A gaze that stripped Eleanor of any illusion that she still had a place in her daughter's world.

Irene had never worked at the warehouse before. Never. Yet, because of her, that was about to change.

Because of her, Irene was stepping out of her carefully built routine. Because of her, Irene was taking a risk she never would have taken otherwise.

And the worst part?

Irene made sure she knew it.

The moment she had agreed to go to the warehouse, Irene had given her that look the kind that sent ice through Eleanor's veins. And then, with absolute certainty, she had said:

"This is because of you."

Eleanor barely registered the sharp gasp that tore from her throat as her vision blurred. Her chest ached, her body trembling as she tried to hold herself together.

She refused to cry.

Yet, despite her resistance, a lone tear betrayed her, slipping silently down her cheek.

She lifted a trembling hand to wipe it away, as if erasing it would somehow erase the ache in her chest.

Then, before she could stop herself, she whispered the most idiotic question she had ever asked.

"Why did she become like this?"