Chapter 2 2

Holly sat at the dusty wooden workbench in her Lower East Side art studio. She carefully trimmed a piece of haute couture fabric with a pair of heavy tailoring scissors.

The cheap backup phone on her desk started vibrating violently. The screen flashed with her adoptive mother Barbra's name.

Holly's stomach tightened. She pressed answer. Barbra's shrill voice immediately blasted through the speaker.

Barbra screamed that the family allowance had not hit her account this month. She accused Holly of pissing off her rich husband.

Holly cut her off with a voice like ice. She stated clearly that she was divorced and there would be no more allowance.

Barbra cursed loudly into the phone. She threatened to come down to the studio and smash her sewing machines.

Holly did not back down. She warned Barbra that if she took one step into the Lower East Side, she would call the cops and file a restraining order.

Holly ended the call. She slammed the phone face down on the desk. Her chest heaved with anger.

A harsh screech of tires echoed from the street outside. A black Maybach parked aggressively in the narrow alley.

Holly walked to the blinds. She peeked through the cracks and saw men in black suits blocking the street.

The car door opened. Crawford stepped out with a dark expression. His expensive custom leather shoes stepped right into a puddle of dirty water.

Holly's heart skipped a beat. She spun around and ran toward the rusted iron door of the studio. She reached for the chain to pull down the rolling gate.

Crawford was faster. A large hand wearing a Patek Philippe watch slammed against the metal gate just as it started to drop.

Metal scraped against metal. Crawford shoved the gate up by force. His massive frame blocked the doorway.

He looked around the rundown room. Disgust flashed in his eyes. He mocked her, asking if this was her idea of independence.

Holly forced herself to stay calm. She took two steps back to create distance. She told him to get out of her private property.

Her tone angered Crawford. He reached back and locked the iron door. He stepped forward, forcing her to back up against the edge of the workbench.

He grabbed her wrist. His grip was so tight it felt like he was going to crush her bones. He demanded to know what kind of tantrum she was throwing.

Holly sucked in a sharp breath of pain. She struggled hard, but the difference in physical strength made it impossible to break free.

Crawford used his weight to press her against the workbench. Sketches and fabric scraps spilled onto the floor.

He lowered his head. His hot breath hit the crook of her neck. He tried to use his usual physical dominance to claim ownership.

A wave of intense nausea hit Holly. Her free hand searched the desk and grabbed the heavy tailoring scissors.

Holly did not hesitate for a fraction of a heartbeat. Driven by pure survival instinct, she pressed the sharp metal tip directly against the expensive fabric of Crawford's suit, aiming right over his stomach. Her eyes, usually calm and detached, were now absolutely lethal.

The cold, undeniable danger of the sharp metal pierced through the thin wool fabric, pressing dangerously close to his skin. Crawford froze instantly, his muscles locking up in mid-air.

A jolt of genuine shock short-circuited his anger. In all their years together, she had never raised a finger against him, let alone a weapon. He stared in absolute disbelief at the woman trembling yet standing firm in front of him. Her hair was messy, her chest heaving, and she looked exactly like a defensive, cornered leopard ready to draw blood. This single act of violent rebellion completely shattered her usual submissive, obedient image, leaving him entirely disoriented.

Holly gritted her teeth. She warned him that if he touched her again, she would make him bleed right there.

They stood locked in the dim light. The air was thick with dangerous tension and fatal hostility.

Crawford let out a dark laugh. He slowly released her wrist. He raised his hands in a mocking surrender, but his eyes remained aggressive.

He took a step back. He adjusted his messy tie. He coldly declared that she would be crying and begging him to take her back soon enough.

Right at that moment, the private phone in Crawford's pocket rang loudly, breaking the suffocating standoff.