Chapter 3
961words
"Mom, Dad's taking Scarlett to the Country Club tonight. The summer gala." I stood before her, fighting to keep my voice steady while my clenched fists betrayed the hurricane inside me.
Catherine was trimming white roses. At my words, her scissors froze mid-cut, a single petal drifting to the floor.
"You're a lifetime member—we can get in and confront them." I grabbed her hand, cold as marble. "We can't keep pretending this isn't happening!"
She yanked her hand away as if my words had scalded her.
"No… Ava, please don't," she begged, her once-bright eyes now dull with fear. "Don't provoke him. He'll destroy us both."
"Can't fight back?" I stared at her in disbelief. "So we just let them humiliate us? Is that it?"
"Ava, I'm begging you…" Her voice broke, her body trembling. "For both our sakes, please let it go. Just this once."
Seeing her so pathetic, the last ember of hope in my heart died.
I stopped arguing. I just gave her one last, long look before walking out.
I heard her muffled sobs behind me but didn't turn back.
From now on, I was on my own.
The Country Club blazed with light and laughter. I wasn't a member, but with my strong resemblance to Mom, I easily convinced the doorman I was looking for her.
I spotted my targets immediately.
Dad held court in the center of the room, basking in attention. Beside him stood Scarlett in a pristine white gown, clinging to his arm with that sickeningly triumphant smile.
The sight burned my eyes.
I snagged the darkest red wine from a passing tray, took a deep breath, and approached them with a smile.
"Evening, Daddy." I greeted him sweetly, as if our last encounter had never happened.
Dad's face darkened when he saw me, his eyes flashing a warning.
Scarlett's grip on his arm tightened, her expression souring as if she'd spotted something foul.
I ignored their reactions and moved closer with fake warmth, as if to embrace Scarlett.
"Scarlett, you look stunning tonight. That dress…"
Before finishing my sentence, my wrist "accidentally" tilted.
The entire glass of red wine splashed across her pristine white gown with surgical precision.
"Ah!" Scarlett shrieked, staring in horror as the crimson stain spread across her chest like fresh blood.
The music screeched to a halt. All eyes turned to us.
I covered my mouth in mock horror. "Oh my God! I'm so sorry! How clumsy of me!"
Watching her furious, disheveled state, I felt a dark satisfaction bloom inside me.
But my victory lasted barely three seconds.
A vise-like grip seized my arm—Dad.
His face contorted with rage, eyes burning like he wanted to tear me limb from limb.
"You little bitch!" he hissed through clenched teeth, dragging me bodily through the stunned crowd.
His grip was crushing, threatening to snap my bones.
He hauled me to a dark corner of the club's backyard and slammed me against the wall.
My back hit the brick with enough force to knock the wind from my lungs.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he snarled, jabbing a finger in my face. "Won't be happy until you've completely humiliated me, will you?"
"Humiliated?" I steadied myself, meeting his gaze with a cold sneer. "Look in the mirror! Parading around with a girl younger than your daughter—you should be the one ashamed!"
My words were gasoline on his rage.
"Shut your mouth!" he roared, hand raised.
I flinched, eyes closing as I braced for impact.
CRACK!
The slap exploded across my face like a gunshot.
My head snapped sideways, ears ringing, mouth filling with the metallic taste of blood.
Stunned, I stared at this stranger before me. My father had never hit me before. Ever.
"You're just like your pathetic mother," he sneered, eyes cold with disgust. "Always ruining everything! Never knowing your place!"
His words cut deeper than the slap.
Not satisfied, he raised his hand for another blow.
As I braced myself, an ice-cold voice cut through the night.
"Touch her again and it will be the last thing you ever do."
We both froze, heads whipping around.
Mom.
She'd come after all. She stood there, face eerily expressionless—no tears, no rage, just a bone-chilling calm. But her eyes… her eyes burned with something I'd never seen before.
Dad's hand froze mid-air, caught off guard by her presence.
Mom ignored him completely. She came straight to me, removed her cashmere wrap, and draped it gently over my shoulders.
Her touch was tender, as if I were made of glass.
Then she raised her eyes to Dad's shocked face and spoke each word with crystal clarity:
"We're leaving. Now."
The look in her eyes was one I'd never seen before—predatory, calculating, deadly.
At home, the massive door sealed us in, shutting out the world.
"Go rest," Mom said quietly.
I didn't move. Through the cracked door, I watched her sit alone in the darkness.
She didn't cry.
She just kept touching her cheek where Dad's handprint was beginning to bruise in the moonlight.
"Twenty-five years…" she whispered to herself. "I gave him twenty-five years… and he gave me this."
Her hand froze against her cheek as if turned to stone.
"In front of my daughter."
"He hit me in front of my child."
With each repetition, her voice grew colder.
"Enough."
I watched her spine straighten as she transformed from cowering victim to something dangerous.
She stood and switched on the light.
She turned to face me. Her expression was serene, but her eyes churned with hatred.
Her first words were:
"Find everything. Every mistress. Every dirty secret. He'll pay a hundredfold for what he did tonight."
