Chapter 7 - The Empty Estate
By Wednesday evening, Ashbourne Manor felt less like a home and more like a mausoleum.
The staff had thinned out significantly. Without the continuous management of the household accounts—which Caroline had personally supervised down to the last penny—the estate’s vendors had suspended their services due to unpaid automated invoices tied to the frozen corporate reserves.
There was no chef to prepare dinner. There was no maid to draw the curtains.
Nathaniel sat alone in the sprawling, dimly lit library, a half-empty glass of scotch resting on the mahogany side table. The fire in the grand stone hearth had burned down to cold, gray ash because nobody had ordered firewood for the week.
He picked up the gray binder from the coffee table, flipping through its pages with a mixture of hatred and grudging awe.
Every single detail of his life—his schedule, his preferences, his dietary needs, his security codes—had been managed by the woman he had spent a decade ignoring. Without her invisible labor holding the scaffolding together, the entire grand facade of his life had collapsed in less than seventy-two hours.
His phone buzzed on the table.
It wasn't a corporate emergency this time. It was a text message from an unknown local number.
He picked it up and tapped the screen.
The keys to the guest cottage are on the kitchen counter. Please make sure the security system is armed when you vacate the manor by Friday. The deed has already been transferred to the historical society.
— C.
Nathaniel sprang to his feet, rage and panic surging through his veins. He threw the glass against the stone fireplace, shattering the crystal into a thousand glittering shards.
May you like
“Caroline!” he roared into the empty, echoing room.
There was no answer. Only the cold autumn wind howling against the leaded glass windows, reminding him that the master of Ashbourne Manor was completely, utterly alone.
