Vanessa backed away, hitting the edge of the mahogany bar. The mask of the elegant mistress was entirely gone, replaced by the desperate, ugly panic of a cornered con artist.
“I needed a guarantee!” Vanessa shrieked, raising her hands to defend herself from his wild eyes. “You were stalling on the divorce! I couldn’t risk you staying with her for her quiet money! I needed you to commit to me! I was going to fake a miscarriage next month, you idiot!”
“I whipped my wife for you!” Adrian roared. The sheer, unfathomable reality of his own colossal stupidity broke his mind. He lunged at Vanessa, his hands outstretched toward her throat.
Before he could cross half the distance, two Sterling security guards moved with blinding speed. They effortlessly grabbed Adrian by the shoulders, lifted him off his feet, and slammed him face-first back down onto the bloody marble floor, pinning his arms behind his back.
“Enough,” I said.
The single word cut through the grand hall like a perfectly sharpened blade. The screaming stopped. The medics, having finished taping the heavy, sterile bandages tightly across my lacerated back, stepped away.
I slowly stood up.
A guard stepped forward, gently draping a thick, heavy cashmere blanket around my shoulders to cover my ruined dress and my bandages. I pulled the blanket tight. I walked toward them. My bare feet stepped over the shattered crystal, ignoring the sticky pools of my own blood. I looked down at them, feeling absolutely nothing but the cold, beautiful clarity of a god casting judgment.
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