Chapter 2
Three-year-old Lily Sterling stood near the edge of the polished marble dance floor, completely isolated from the wealthy guests laughing and drinking around her. She wore a pristine white formal child’s dress and small, delicate flats. However, her tiny hands were currently clutching a heavy, wet cleaning rag. Her fair, rosy cheeks were flushed with confusion and exhaustion.
Eleanor Sterling approached the young girl with predatory grace, the heavy silk of her emerald gown whispering against the floor. Richard followed closely behind, his hands resting in the pockets of his tailored tuxedo.
"You missed a spot, child," Eleanor said, her American accent dripping with cruel authority.
Lily looked up, her bright blue eyes wide with fear. "I'm sorry, Grandma. My hands are tired."
"Servants do not complain about being tired," Eleanor hissed, stepping into the child’s personal space.
Without a shred of hesitation or mercy, Eleanor violently grabbed Lily by the shoulder. The elderly woman’s manicured fingers dug painfully into the fragile fabric of the white dress. With a sharp, aggressive shove, she forced the tiny, trembling child back onto both of her knees on the hard marble floor.
Lily let out a sharp gasp, her eyes filling instantly with tears.
"You are going to learn respect for the true bloodline of this family," Eleanor sneered.
Beside them stood a heavy silver bucket filled with icy, dirty cleaning water. Eleanor reached down, her gold rings clinking against the metal handle. With a vicious, deliberate motion, she lifted the bucket and dumped the remaining icy water directly over the three-year-old girl.
The freezing water cascaded over Lily’s head, soaking her white formal dress instantly and chilling her to the bone. Lily shrieked, a breathless, panicked cry that cut through the polite murmurs of the ballroom. She knelt on the floor, shivering violently, her fair skin turning pale from the sudden, freezing shock.
The loud splash drew the immediate attention of the surrounding guests. White American adults in expensive suits and gowns stopped their conversations. Several guests, sensing the horrific power play unfolding before them, slowly raised their smartphones, their cameras recording the brutal humiliation of the reigning boss's daughter.
Eleanor stood tall over the soaking, weeping child. She turned her gaze toward the sweeping velvet staircase, anticipating the arrival she knew this act would trigger. She offered a cold, smirking smile to the silent, watching crowd.
"Choose your daughter over this family, Elena," Eleanor announced loudly, her voice echoing with vicious, theatrical authority, "and you lose this house too."
May you like
"Mother, look at them," Richard whispered, leaning in close to Eleanor, a cruel grin spreading across his face as he observed the guests recording the scene. "The capos are watching. They see the weakness. The girl is a pathetic, crying mess on the floor."
"Exactly," Eleanor replied smoothly, adjusting her heavy gold necklace. "When Elena reacts with emotion, she will prove she lacks the cold rationality required to lead a syndicate. The throne will be ours by midnight."
