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Too Late, Mr. Winters: I'm No Victim Novel Cover

Too Late, Mr. Winters: I'm No Victim

I lived in Ellery Winters’ penthouse for two years, playing the role of the quiet, unremarkable girl who fixed his financial messes in the dark. I thought we had a partnership, until I walked in to find my belongings packed in a black garbage bag near the door. Ellery stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, a silhouette of ice, refusing to even look at me. On the marble table sat a "Termination of Relations" agreement and a one-million-dollar check. "Sign it," he said, his voice devoid of any warmth. He was discarding me to marry my sister, Claudine, as part of a strategic merger with the Fitzgeralds—the very family that had abandoned me to the foster system years ago. My mother, Victoria, didn't want a daughter; she wanted a tool to secure the Winters’ fortune. Silas, his assistant, looked at me with pity, expecting the "trailer park girl" to break down and beg for the hush money. They all thought I was a nobody, a line item to be deleted from the balance sheet of their lives so they could move on to their high-society wedding. I felt a cold, sharp rage bubbling up, the kind that only someone who has lived in the shadows can truly feel. I didn't beg, and I didn't scream. I just looked at the man I had protected for two years and realized he had no idea who I actually was. Why did they think I was helpless? Why did Ellery believe he could buy my silence when I knew every dirty secret buried in his Cayman accounts? I ripped the million-dollar check into confetti and dropped it in the trash. As I stepped back into the decaying Fitzgerald mansion as an "Honorary Ward," I wasn't coming home for a reunion—I was coming to dismantle both of their empires from the inside.
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Chapter 5

Arla changed into a clean pair of jeans and a black turtleneck. When she came downstairs, the living room felt like a funeral parlor.

An old woman with silver hair sat in the high-backed armchair by the fireplace. She held a cane made of dark walnut.

Rose Winters. The Matriarch.

Victoria and Claudine were hovering around her, offering tea, offering pillows. Rose ignored them.

Ellery was in his wheelchair to her right, his head lolling slightly, a glass of water with a straw held to his lips by a nervous maid.

Arla walked in. Rose's head snapped up. Her eyes were sharp, blue, and intelligent.

"So this is the hidden one," Rose said. Her voice was like cracking parchment. "Come here."

"Mrs. Winters," Victoria interjected nervously. "She's not-she doesn't know how to behave in-"

Rose slammed her cane on the floor. Crack.

Victoria shut her mouth.

Arla walked forward. She didn't curtsy. She nodded. "Mrs. Winters."

Rose studied her. She looked at Arla's hands, no manicure. She looked at her eyes, no fear.

"We are going to the Hamptons estate to discuss the engagement details," Rose announced. "You will come."

"Her?" Claudine gasped. "Why?"

"She is family," Rose said. "It is protocol."

Ellery's head twitched. A low moan escaped his lips. His eyes met Arla's over the rim of his water glass. He looked suspicious.

Rose stood up. "Let's go."

Outside, a convoy awaited. A stretch Lincoln limo and two black SUVs.

Claudine rushed to the limo. "We can put Ellery's chair in the limo. I can sit with him and make sure he's comfortable."

Rose stopped at the limo door. She looked at Arla. "Get in."

Arla looked at the dark tinted windows. She looked at Ellery, who was being maneuvered toward the ramp by Silas.

"No thank you," Arla said. "I get carsick. I'll take a cab."

Victoria laughed, a harsh, barking sound. "Drive what? The tractor? You have no money for a cab to the Hamptons."

Arla reached into her pocket and pulled out the thick roll of twenties she always kept for emergencies. She peeled off three bills and held them up.

"I'll see you there," Arla said.

She walked down the long driveway, past the waiting convoy, and out the front gates without looking back. She pulled out her burner phone and ordered an Uber.

From inside the limo, Ellery watched her walk away. Through his feigned haze, a single, sharp thought cut through: she was exactly where she wanted to be, and he had no idea why.

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