Chapter 5

Two massive security guards grabbed Blair by the arms. She was practically dead weight, sobbing and hyperventilating as they dragged her out of the dusty attic and down the hall into the brightly lit upstairs sitting room.

Drops of fresh blood stained the priceless Persian rug.

The butler rushed in carrying a heavy, multi-tiered metal medical box. He slammed it down on the glass coffee table.

Arla walked in right behind them, her hand gripping Caden's tightly. She guided her son behind the large leather sofa, shielding his eyes from the blood. "Stay right here, baby," she whispered softly.

Arla walked around the sofa and stopped in front of the coffee table. She popped the metal latches of the medical kit.

Blair was slumped against the sofa cushions. She glared at Arla through her tears, her eyes burning with pure hatred. "Don't... touch me..." she slurred, the blood bubbling on her lips.

Arla ignored her. Her eyes scanned the rows of bottles and bandages.

Her gaze locked onto a large bottle of high-concentration medical alcohol, and right next to it, a bottle of harsh chemical astringent meant for severe, dirty wounds.

Arla grabbed both bottles. She turned to face Blair, her expression twisted into a mask of deep, sisterly concern.

"Blair, the cut is deep," Arla said, her voice loud enough for the servants to hear. "If I don't disinfect this thoroughly right now, you'll get sepsis. Or worse, a massive, raised keloid scar. Your face will be ruined forever."

The word 'ruined' acted like a physical blow. Blair's cursing stopped instantly. Pure, unfiltered terror flashed in her eyes.

For a woman whose entire worth in the Sargent family was tied to her beauty and her ability to marry rich, a scar on her face was a death sentence.

Arla knew exactly where to hit her. She grabbed a large sterile cotton ball and soaked it heavily in the alcohol, then dumped a generous amount of the burning astringent over it.

The butler watched the potent mixture soak into the cotton. He opened his mouth to say something, but the fear of Blair getting a scar kept him silent.

Arla stepped forward. Her left hand shot out, grabbing Blair's shoulder and pinning her hard against the back of the sofa.

With her right hand, she took the soaked, dripping cotton ball and slammed it directly into the open, flayed flesh of Blair's cheek.

The high-concentration alcohol and chemicals bit straight into the exposed nerve endings.

The pain was explosive. Blair's body arched violently off the sofa like she had been struck by lightning. A horrific, inhuman shriek ripped from her throat.

"Ahhhh! You bitch! You're killing me!" Blair thrashed wildly.

Arla's grip on her shoulder was like a vice. "Hold still, Blair! Disinfecting always hurts. I'm doing this for your own good!"

As she spoke, Arla intentionally pressed harder, grinding the rough cotton ball deep into the open wound and twisting her wrist.

Fresh blood mixed with the chemicals, running down Blair's neck. Blair's eyes rolled back in her head. Her body convulsed in absolute agony.

She tried to shove Arla away, but the guards were holding her arms down. One of the massive guards hesitated, his eyes wide at the brutal sight, his grip visibly loosening. Arla snapped her head up, her eyes wide with manufactured panic. "Hold her still! The doctor said any sudden movement during deep sterilization could cause permanent nerve damage! Do you want her face ruined forever because you let go?!" The guard swallowed hard, terrified of being blamed for Blair's disfigurement, and immediately pinned her arms back down with absolute force. Blair bit down on her own lip so hard that blood dripped from her mouth.

The servants standing around the room turned their faces away, their stomachs turning at the brutal sight.

Watching Blair suffer, the burning inferno of rage in Arla's chest finally cooled just a fraction.

She tossed the bloody cotton ball onto the table and picked up a fresh one, soaking it again.

Blair stared at the new cotton ball with wide, horrified eyes. She shook her head frantically, tears and snot covering her face. She looked pathetic.

Arla leaned in close. She lowered her head, bringing her lips right next to Blair's ear, completely hidden from the servants' view.

Her voice dropped the innocent act. It was cold, dead, and lethal.

"If you ever touch my son in the middle of the night again," Arla whispered, "the intruder's knife won't just slice your cheek. It will gut you."

Blair's eyes widened to the size of saucers. She stared at the pure, unfiltered murder in Arla's eyes. A freezing chill shot down her spine as she finally realized the terrifying truth.

Arla had done this on purpose.