Nora sat in the chair opposite him. It was a genuine Louis XV antique, beautiful and delicate, forcing her to sit straight up. She felt like a piece of mismatched furniture in this room-expensive, but out of place.
Catherine Beaumont stood by the fireplace, her arms crossed over her chest. She looked at Nora with barely concealed disdain. "Your father is right. You should know your place, Eleanora. Don't reach for things that were never meant for you."
Olivia Beaumont sat on the edge of the sofa, her hands folded in her lap. She wore a soft, pitying expression. "Nora, please understand. Connor and I... we truly love each other. We just want everyone to be happy. This is for the best."
Nora's gaze moved slowly from Olivia's face to Catherine's, and finally back to Edward. She felt nothing. No sting of betrayal. No heat of anger. Just the cool, calculating clarity of a chess player looking at the board.
She noticed the slight twitch at the corner of Olivia's mouth. The quick, triumphant flash in her eyes before she lowered them. She saw the fierce, protective warmth in Catherine's gaze when she looked at Olivia-a warmth that never existed when Catherine looked at her own biological daughter.
Edward slid the document closer to Nora. A pen appeared from nowhere, resting beside it.
"Sign it," he repeated.
Nora didn't reach for the pen. Instead, she leaned back in the rigid chair, her eyes locking onto Edward's.
"Father," she said, her voice calm and steady. "According to the Beaumont family trust, what rights does the legal heir possess regarding the estate?"
Edward blinked, thrown off by the question. He had expected tears, or an argument, or maybe even some begging. Not a legal inquiry.
He answered automatically, his businessman's brain retrieving the data. "Ownership, of course. And priority use of the main house."
"Don't entertain this nonsense," Catherine snapped, stepping forward. "We are discussing your future, not property rules. Sign the paper."
Nora ignored her. She picked up the pen. It was heavy, solid gold, engraved with the Beaumont crest.
She didn't hesitate. She didn't read the fine print. She pulled the paper closer, signed her name with a swift, fluid motion, and pushed it back across the desk.
Olivia and Catherine exchanged a quick glance. Victory. The country girl had folded.
Edward let out a slow breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "Good. That's settled, then. You made the right choice."
"Transaction complete," Nora said softly.
She capped the pen and set it down precisely on the desk. Then she looked up, her eyes finding Olivia's.
"Now," Nora said, her voice shifting, gaining a hard edge that hadn't been there a moment ago. "Let's talk about my rights."
Olivia's smile faltered.
Nora stood up. She didn't look small or out of place anymore. She looked like she owned the room.
"Since I am the heir," Nora continued, her tone leaving no room for argument, "I demand what belongs to me. I'm taking the master bedroom."
The color drained from Olivia's face instantly. The master bedroom was the symbolic heart of the house. It was the room Olivia had occupied for years, a constant reminder to everyone that she was the princess of this castle.
Catherine's shriek filled the study. "Are you out of your mind? That is Olivia's room!"
Nora turned her head slowly toward Edward. "Father, you just confirmed my rights. Or is the Beaumont family code merely a suggestion? A set of rules that only apply when convenient?"
The silence that followed was thick and suffocating. Edward's jaw tightened. He was a man who built his empire on the sanctity of contracts and rules. Nora had just backed him into a corner, forcing him to choose between his beloved rules and his favored daughter.
Olivia began to cry, soft, hiccupping sobs that tugged at Catherine's heartstrings. "Mom, please... I don't want to move..."
Catherine wrapped her arms around Olivia, glaring at Nora with pure hatred. "You heartless bitch! You come in here and bully your sister the first chance you get!"
Nora didn't even glance at them. She kept her eyes fixed on Edward. She watched his knuckles whiten as he gripped the edge of the desk. She watched the war rage behind his eyes.
She knew she had won this hand. For a man like Edward, the structural integrity of his world-his rules-mattered more than tears.
She waited, patient and still, for the verdict.