“She was my wife,” I said.

“She was a threat to everything this family has built,” Eleanor replied, her tone sharpening. “She had no poise, no connections, and no understanding of what it means to carry the Whitmore name.”

“So you stole my chance at a family?” I asked, my voice shaking with a rage I could barely contain. “You made me believe I couldn’t have children?”

“I did what was necessary to protect you,” she said, her expression entirely unrepentant.

“Protect me from what?” I demanded.

“From a lifetime of mediocrity,” Eleanor said. “I knew she would try to anchor herself to our wealth. When she became pregnant, I knew I had to act quickly.”

“How did you do it?” I asked.

“It was remarkably simple,” she said, reaching for a linen napkin. “Lionel Mercer owed his entire career to your father’s investments. I told him what needed to happen.”

She dabbed at the corner of her mouth, her movements deliberate.

“We swapped the fertility samples,” she said. “The laboratory papers were drawn up according to my instructions.”