Chapter 144 *
Scarlett’s POV
Zelda stumbled backward into the display case. Her hand flew to her cheek. Her mouth was open but nothing came out.
Viviana let out a strangled sound and rushed to Zelda's side. She grabbed her adopted daughter's face in both hands, turning it left and right to examine the damage.
I felt absolutely nothing. No guilt. No regret. Not even a flicker of satisfaction.
This slap was six months overdue. If anything, I owed her interest.
Her eyes went wide with genuine shock because she had never, not once in her entire pampered life, considered the possibility that someone might actually hit her back.
Then the performance kicked in.
Her lip trembled first. Then the chin. Then the tears came pouring down, streaking through her foundation.
Half her face was already swelling red. The handprint was going to be spectacular.
"Scarlett..." Her voice shook with exactly the right amount of tremor. Not too much, not too little. "How could you—"
"Save it." My voice could have flash-frozen liquid nitrogen. "That victim act might work on everyone else, but I've had front-row seats for six months straight. I know exactly what you are."
I turned to Miranda.
She was still standing there, rooted to the spot, her face frozen somewhere between horror and disbelief. Like she couldn't quite process the fact that I'd actually done it.
"You know what, Miranda?" My tone shifted. It became almost conversational. "You seem awfully familiar with the whole concept of a woman being 'kept' by a rich man."
Miranda's smile died on her face.
"The vocabulary. The assumptions. The specific little details about someone trading their body for a man's money and protection." I tilted my head to one side. "It's almost like you know from personal experience. Like you know exactly what it feels like to be a man's mistress. Because that's what you are, isn't it?"
Every drop of color drained from Miranda's face so fast I thought she might pass out.
"Unless I'm wrong?" I raised one eyebrow. "Unless you've never been set up in a nice apartment by someone else's husband? Never had your bills paid by a man who goes home to his wife and legitimate children every night while you wait by the phone?"
Miranda's mouth opened and closed. No sound came out. She looked like a fish that had been yanked out of the water and dropped on the deck.
The saleswoman behind the counter had gone completely still. Every customer within thirty feet had stopped what they were doing.
"You son of a bitch!" Viviana’s voice cracked with rage as she charged. Her hand came up, already swinging. "Goddamn animal!"
She spun toward me.
I caught her wrist in midair. My fingers closed around the bones and I held firm.
She was not particularly strong. I barely had to try.
I shoved her backward hard enough that she stumbled on her heels and nearly went down. She caught herself on a display table, sending a tray of earrings scattering across the glass.
"Viviana." My voice was low and quiet. "My patience has a limit. And you just found it."
I stepped closer. Close enough that she had to tilt her head up to meet my eyes. I wanted her to hear every syllable.
"Anyone in this world can call me ill-bred. Anyone can say I have no class, no manners, no sophistication." I held her gaze without blinking. "Anyone except you. You don't get to say those words. You haven't earned the right."
Viviana's face twisted with fury, but something else flickered behind it. Something that looked a lot like fear.
From the floor, Zelda let out a pitiful whimper. She was sitting against the display case now, tears still streaming, mascara running down both cheeks in dark rivulets. She looked up at the gathering crowd of onlookers with those big wounded eyes.
"It's okay that she hit me," Zelda said, her voice breaking beautifully. "I can take it. But please... don't talk to Mom like that."
She sniffled and wiped her nose with the back of her hand.
"She's your mother, Scarlett. The woman who gave birth to you. Your only mother. She just wants what's best for you."
I almost admired the technique. Even now, crumpled on the floor with a handprint blooming on her face, Zelda was still working the room. Still crafting the narrative. The devoted sister defending the loving mother against the ungrateful, violent daughter.
I could hear the whispers starting around us. People murmuring to each other. Phones were definitely out. The court of public opinion was convening in real time, and the early verdict was not in my favor.
Miranda saw it too. She saw the sympathetic looks directed at Zelda. She saw the disapproving glances aimed at me. And she decided this was her moment to swing the pendulum back.
She straightened up, smoothed down her blouse, and stepped forward with the practiced air of a concerned elder who was simply trying to help.
"Scarlett, this really isn't appropriate." Miranda's voice had that particular tone of gentle authority. "Your mother has been worried sick about you. She hasn't been eating. She hasn't been sleeping. And you pushed her? She was only trying to show she cares."
"After all, sweetheart, you're still so young. And getting pregnant before you're even married..." She leaned on those last four words.
I hit her so hard my palm went numb.
The backhand connected with the full rotation of my hips and shoulders behind it, and the crack echoed through the jewelry department.
Miranda's head snapped sideways. Her body followed. She went down hard, landing in a heap right next to Zelda on the polished marble floor. The crowd gasped.
I crouched down so that I was at eye level with Miranda. She was staring up at me with her hand pressed to her mouth. Blood was already seeping between her fingers from where her lip had split against her teeth.
"You want to know what I'm capable of?" My voice was calm. "Murder doesn't even crack my top ten."
Miranda's eyes went so wide I could see white all around the iris.