Chapter 3 3

Meredith stopped dead in her tracks. She looked past her bodyguards, her sharp eyes locking onto the woman pinned by security.

When she recognized the face she hadn't seen in five years, Meredith's features contorted into pure, unfiltered hatred.

Meredith marched forward, her high heels clicking aggressively against the marble.

"Let her go," Meredith snapped at the guard.

The guard released his grip. Jane lost her balance and collapsed onto the freezing marble floor.

Before Jane could even lift her head, Meredith was standing over her. Meredith raised her hand and slapped Jane across the face with all her strength.

The sharp crack echoed through the silent lobby. Jane's head whipped to the side. The split in her lip tore wider, and fresh blood spilled down her chin.

Jane did not try to protect herself. She pushed herself up onto her knees. Tears spilled over her eyelashes and tracked through the dirt on her cheeks.

"Aunt Meredith," Jane cried, her voice breaking. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I just wanted to see Blaire."

Hearing her daughter's name pushed Meredith over the edge.

Meredith grabbed the handle of her heavy platinum Birkin bag and swung it down. She smashed the bag repeatedly into Jane's head and shoulders.

"You murderer!" Meredith screamed hysterically. "You ruined her life!"

The heavy metal clasp of the bag struck Jane's forehead. The skin split open. A thick line of blood ran down Jane's brow and dripped into her eye.

A crowd gathered. Whispers broke out as people recognized Jane from the tabloids five years ago.

Cell phones went up. People started recording the disgraced socialite getting beaten like a stray dog.

Jane curled into a tight ball on the floor. She wrapped her arms around her head, taking every blow. The three daisies lay crushed under Meredith's shoes.

Suddenly, the massive automatic doors of the hospital lobby slid open.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop below freezing. The loud whispers and camera clicks stopped instantly.

A fleet of black, bulletproof Maybachs sat idling at the curb. Carson Long stepped into the lobby, flanked by bodyguards and assistants.

He wore a dark, perfectly tailored suit. He looked like a god of destruction. His eyes were colder than glacial ice.

Brenda Walsh, his lead public relations assistant, stepped forward. She aggressively shoved the gawking crowd out of the way.

Carson's gaze swept over the lobby and landed perfectly on the bleeding, trembling woman curled on the floor.

The moment he saw Jane, Carson's pupils contracted. His hands curled into tight fists at his sides.

Five years in prison had not washed away her sins in his eyes. The passage of time had only fermented his hatred into something darker and more potent.

Brenda walked up to Meredith. She looked down at Jane with absolute disgust.

"How did security let this trash into the VIP sector?" Brenda yelled at the guards.

Jane heard the heavy, rhythmic sound of Carson's leather shoes approaching. Her breathing stopped.

She slowly lifted her head. Through the blur of her own blood and tears, she met Carson's eyes.

There was no emotion in his stare. Only an absolute, consuming desire to destroy her.

Jane's body began to shake violently. The terror was carved into her bones.

She tried to push herself backward, but her bloody hands slipped on the polished marble. She looked pathetic.

Carson stopped one step away from her. The tip of his expensive leather shoe almost touched her trembling fingers.

Meredith stood back, breathing heavily. "Look at her, Carson. She has no shame. Showing her face here."

Carson ignored Meredith. His eyes were nailed to Jane's face.

He saw the gash on her forehead and the blood on her lips. A strange, uncomfortable tightness flared deep in his chest, but he instantly crushed it with rage.

He convinced himself this was just her usual manipulation. She was playing the victim to get pity.

Carson leaned down slightly. His lips barely moved as he spoke in a voice so cold it burned.

"You stained my floor."