Eleanor Croft stood frozen, her face ashen as Lyra's words hung in the air between them.
"What nonsense are you talking about?" Orla snapped, her eyes darting between Lyra and her mother. "Of course you're Father's bastard. Everyone knows it."
But Eleanor remained silent, her hand trembling as she clutched her jacket closer. The security guard shifted uncomfortably, clearly unsure whether to intervene in what had become an intensely personal family moment.
"Mrs. Croft," the guard finally said, clearing his throat. "I've just received word. Old Mrs. Covington will see you."
Eleanor seemed to snap out of her trance. "Thank you," she said softly, straightening her posture despite her obvious physical weakness. "Orla, you'll wait outside."
"What? No!" Orla protested immediately. "This meeting is about me!"
"You will wait here," Eleanor repeated, her tone leaving no room for argument. "I won't have you making things worse than they already are."
