Chapter 4
"Keep your voice down, Victoria," Eleanor hissed, finally showing a flicker of concern as the nearby guests began to stand from their seats, their faces tight with uncomfortable judgment. "You are embarrassing yourself. Accept that your adopted mistake has ruined this reception and take her out the back door."
Victoria did not move. She felt the heavy, terrified thumping of Lily’s heartbeat against her own chest. She looked at Eleanor—at the smug, untouchable arrogance radiating from the older woman’s pearl jewelry and tailored emerald suit. She looked at Richard, who was smirking like he had just won a grand prize.
They wanted to break her. They wanted to prove that Victoria and her daughter did not belong in their pristine, elite world.
Victoria carefully set Lily down on her feet, gently pushing the crying child a few steps back, away from the broken glass and away from the line of fire.
"Stay right there, darling," Victoria whispered softly to her daughter.
Victoria straightened her spine. She took one fluid, purposeful step forward, closing the distance between herself and the matriarch.
Eleanor’s chin tilted upward, her eyes flashing with defiant authority. "What do you think you are doing—"
Victoria didn't speak. She drew her right arm back, the sapphire silk of her sleeve snapping in the air, and delivered one sharp, explosive, open-handed slap across Eleanor’s face.
The sound of flesh striking flesh was deafening—a brutal, echoing crack that silenced the entire banquet hall. The sheer physical force behind the blow was staggering, fueled by years of passive-aggressive torture and the primal, blinding instinct of a mother protecting her young.
Eleanor’s head snapped violently sideways. The impact knocked the sixty-eight-year-old completely off her balance. Her low heels lost their grip on the slippery marble. She staggered backward, her arms flailing wildly, her face contorted in shock and pain.
Unable to catch herself, Eleanor crashed heavily backward into the banquet table.
The collision was catastrophic. The edge of the table buckled under her weight. Eleanor’s hands slammed down onto the white linen tablecloth, dragging the fabric with her as she fell. Crystal champagne flutes, heavy silver platters, and towering floral arrangements tumbled over the edge in a chaotic avalanche. Glasses shattered, wine sprayed across the marble, and Eleanor collapsed heavily onto the floor, landing right beside the overturned mahogany chair she had kicked moments before.
May you like
She lay there, surrounded by ruined flowers and broken glass, a bright red handprint blooming vividly across her pale cheek.
No one spoke. No one breathed. The silence in the room was absolute, heavy with the terrifying realization of what had just happened. Victoria stood tall over the fallen matriarch, her chest heaving, radiating a dark, unyielding menace.
