Chapter 8

Harlene's chest heaved. The noise of the party faded away, replaced by the roaring in her ears.

That dress. It was the Victorian antique her grandmother had cherished. The dress with the hidden family crest.

She remembered her grandmother's weak voice, the hand cold as paper gripping hers. "This is for you, Harlene. When you come of age."

And now, the only physical memory of love she had left was draped over the body of the woman who had destroyed her life.

Harlene moved before she could think. She lunged forward, her hand fisting in the delicate fabric of the bodice, yanking Estella back.

"Where did you get this?" Harlene snarled, her face inches from Estella's.

Estella stumbled, startled, but quickly recovered. She pried Harlene's fingers off, a smug look on her face. "Mother gave it to me. It's my trophy for tonight."

The words hit Harlene like a sledgehammer. Her mother had given away her grandmother's dress. The last piece of her history, handed to the enemy.

Jailyn chimed in, her voice like poison. "Some people just don't deserve beautiful things."

Estella twirled, the heavy skirt flaring out. "Doesn't it look gorgeous? I fill it out much better than that old woman ever did."

Something inside Harlene snapped. It wasn't a break; it was a severance. The world went red. A cold, clear thought cut through the rage: This is not a breakdown. This is a demolition. They need to fear the monster, not pity the victim.

She didn't speak. Words were useless against this level of betrayal.

Her right hand slipped to her thigh. Her fingers wrapped around the hilt of the dagger. The metal was warm now, eager.

Across the room, Tess saw the movement. Her eyes went wide. She tried to run forward, but the crowd was too thick.

Jailyn was still talking, bragging about Dennis, completely oblivious to the danger.

Harlene advanced. Each step was measured, heavy.

Estella mistook her silence for defeat. She posed, ready for the cameras.

The dagger cleared the sheath. The silver blade flashed under the chandelier light.

As soon as the blade was visible, two security guards started moving in from the perimeter, their expressions tense. They didn't draw their weapons, but they closed the distance, their eyes flicking towards Alastair for direction.

Estella's smile vanished. She finally saw the knife. She tried to step back.

Harlene's left hand shot out, grabbing Estella's shoulder in a vice grip, pinning her in place.

Her right hand swung. The blade didn't aim for flesh. It sliced through the antique velvet like it was paper.

The sound of tearing fabric was loud, obscene. It sounded like a scream.

Estella shrieked, trying to twist away, but Harlene held her fast.

Harlene was relentless. She slashed again and again. The heavy skirt fell away in ribbons. The silver embroidery was severed, the threads bleeding onto the floor.

Gasps and screams erupted around them. The crowd surged back, creating a wide berth.

Jailyn fell to the floor, her face white, her previous arrogance gone.

Harlene stopped. She was breathing hard, her chest heaving. She looked at the shredded fabric in her hand, then at the ruined dress hanging off Estella's shoulders.

She threw the scraps into Estella's tear-streaked face.

"You owe me," Harlene said, her voice dead and cold.