Chapter 3 - Shadows of Newport
By Sunday morning, the storm had cleared, but a different kind of storm was raging across the digital networks and front pages of New England media.
THE VIRGIN BILLIONAIRE’S SECRET HAREM: MICHAEL ANDERS ESCAPES WITH DISGRACED WIDOW AND THREE CHILDREN.
The headlines were vicious, engineered by public relations firms loyal to the Mercer family. Sensationalist tabloids published grainy photographs of Michael carrying Eleanor’s worn canvas bag into his SUV, twisting a humanitarian rescue into a scandalous soap opera. Social media commentators debated whether the reclusive tech titan had finally lost his mind or had been hiding a secret family for years.
Inside the cliffside mansion, Evelyn Brooks turned off the television in the kitchen with a sharp click of the remote.
“Trash,” the elderly housekeeper muttered, wiping down the marble counter with unnecessary force. “Vultures, the lot of them. They wouldn't know integrity if it bit them on the nose.”
Eleanor stood by the tall kitchen window, watching the gray Atlantic waves crash against the jagged rocks far below. She wore a soft cream-colored sweater Evelyn had found in a guest closet. Her face was healing, though the faint yellow outline of Lydia’s slap remained visible.
“They’re talking about him because of me,” Eleanor whispered, her voice tight with guilt. “Michael’s reputation... his foundation... it’s all being dragged through the mud because he stopped to help a stranger.”
Evelyn stopped wiping the counter and walked over, placing a warm, flour-dusted hand on Eleanor’s shoulder.
“Listen to me, child,” Evelyn said firmly. “Michael Anders spent eighteen years building an empire out of spite and brilliance. He does not care what the gossip columns say about his private life. For ten years, the press has called him cold, robotic, emotionless. Do you know why? Because he refused to let them into his heart. Now, for the first time in his adult life, he has brought people into this home. That terrifies them.”
“I lied to him, Evelyn,” Eleanor said, her voice dropping to a trembling whisper.
Evelyn’s eyes narrowed slightly. “What kind of lie?”
Before Eleanor could answer, heavy footsteps echoed down the stone hallway, and Michael strode into the kitchen. He looked exhausted, his phone buzzing incessantly in his hand, displaying alerts from his corporate board members and PR directors.
“Ignore them,” Michael said, tossing his phone onto the kitchen island face down.
“Your board is threatening an emergency vote, Michael,” Eleanor said, turning away from the window. “They say the scandal will tank the upcoming cybersecurity merger with government contractors.”
“Let them vote,” Michael replied, pouring himself a cup of black coffee. His dark eyes locked onto hers with absolute steadiness. “My company, my shares, my rules. No government contract is worth more than human decency. Did you sleep at all last night?”
“A little,” Eleanor lied.
“She stared at the ceiling until four in the morning, Mr. Anders,” Evelyn snitched affectionately. “Worrying herself into a knot.”
Michael stepped closer, stopping just a foot away from her. The scent of pine and black coffee surrounded him. “You are safe here, Eleanor. The Mercers cannot touch you. My legal team filed criminal assault charges against Lydia this morning, alongside a forensic audit request for the Mercer Foundation.”
Eleanor’s breath caught in her throat. Her eyes widened in genuine terror.
“You... you filed a forensic audit against their foundation?”
“Yes. Why does that frighten you?” Michael asked, noticing the sudden pallor of her skin.
May you like
Eleanor looked down, her hands trembling as she clutched the hem of her sweater. The secret she had carried for two years—the dangerous, explosive secret about how her husband Daniel had really died—threatened to tear her chest open.
She hadn't just lied to save Michael; she had lied to protect her daughters from men far more dangerous than the society columnists.
