Chapter 29 - Eleanor's Descent
Miles away from the sprawling, manicured lawns of the Sterling estate, reality was crashing down on Eleanor with brutal, unforgiving force.
She sat on the edge of a lumpy, stained mattress in a cheap, three-star motel near the airport. She was wearing the same designer silk dress from the day before, now hopelessly wrinkled and smelling of stale cigarette smoke from the hallway.
Her single suitcase sat open on the cheap carpet, containing only a few changes of clothes and a pair of flat shoes.
"This is impossible,"
Eleanor muttered to herself, staring blankly at the peeling wallpaper.
She picked up her cell phone, her hands trembling violently, and dialed the number for her most trusted socialite friend, Margaret.
The line rang four times before going straight to voicemail.
Eleanor dialed again. Voicemail.
She dialed her private hairstylist, her favorite boutique manager, and the president of the country club. No one answered. The word had already spread through the elite circles. William had completely isolated her, cutting off her social oxygen with terrifying efficiency.
Her stomach growled loudly. She hadn't eaten since the previous afternoon.
She walked down to the motel lobby and tried to buy a stale sandwich from the vending machine using her emergency credit card.
May you like
The small digital screen flashed red: DECLINED.
Eleanor Sterling, the woman who used to drink thousand-dollar champagne for breakfast, collapsed against the vending machine, weeping uncontrollably in the dingy, flickering fluorescent light.
