Chapter 7

Ayla and Clotilde walked out of the heavy iron gates of St. Jude's.

Before they could step onto the sidewalk, tires screeched.

A massive, sleek black Maybach swerved across the lanes and parked horizontally, completely blocking the crosswalk.

Students pouring out of the school stopped in their tracks, pulling out their phones to film the spectacle.

The tinted rear window rolled down.

Eleanor Tillman sat in the back seat, her face a mask of cold fury and disgust.

"Open the door," Eleanor snapped at her bodyguard.

The massive man in a suit got out and opened the rear door, stepping into Ayla's path to prevent her from walking around the car.

Eleanor stepped out onto the pavement. She looked at the peeling paint of the St. Jude's sign, then looked at Ayla like she was a piece of rotting garbage.

"You are a disgrace," Eleanor said, her voice carrying over the whispers of the watching students. "You throw away a marriage to the Redding family to come rot in this dumpster of a school? You are dragging the Tillman name through the mud."

Ayla adjusted the strap of her backpack. She let out a dry, mocking laugh.

"I don't have the Tillman name anymore, remember?" Ayla said.

Eleanor's face twisted. She reached into her designer purse, pulled out a stack of bank statements, and threw them at Ayla's feet.

"Your accounts are frozen," Eleanor sneered. "Every cent we gave you is gone. When you're starving on the streets next week, don't you dare come crawling back to my door begging for scraps."

Clotilde's face burned with rage. She stepped forward, her fists clenched.

Ayla threw an arm across Clotilde's chest, holding her back.

Ayla took one slow step forward. Then another.

She invaded Eleanor's personal space, towering over the older woman. The lazy, bored aura vanished, replaced by a crushing, predatory pressure.

Ayla leaned down. Her lips were inches from Eleanor's ear.

"Dr. Marcus Thorne," Ayla whispered.

Eleanor's entire body went rigid. Her breath hitched audibly. The color drained from her face, leaving her looking like a corpse.

"I know a nurse who works closely with him. She gets remarkably talkative after a few drinks," Ayla continued, her voice a soft, venomous hiss. "Or perhaps you should ask yourself if the hush money you paid him was truly enough to keep everyone quiet. I know exactly how much it cost to buy those Academic Decathlon answers for Carly."

Eleanor's eyes widened in sheer terror. Her hands began to shake.

"And," Ayla whispered, "I know about the underground casino in Macau. I know whose name is on that debt."

Carly was the golden child. She was the pristine, perfect face of the Tillman family. If the academic fraud and the gambling debts leaked, the family's stock would plummet to zero overnight.

Eleanor opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She looked at Ayla as if looking at a monster.

"What do you want?" Eleanor choked out, her voice trembling.

Ayla stepped back, putting distance between them. She shoved her hands back into her pockets.

"I want you to never show your face in front of me again," Ayla said, her voice loud enough for the front row of students to hear. "Because if you do, I will burn your perfect little family to the ground."

The students gasped. They hadn't heard the whispers, but they heard the threat.

Eleanor was shaking so hard she could barely stand. She didn't say another word. She practically threw herself back into the Maybach.

"Drive!" she screamed at the chauffeur.

The Maybach peeled out, leaving black tire marks on the pavement and a cloud of exhaust in its wake.

Clotilde stared at the retreating car, her mouth hanging open. "What magic spell did you just cast on that witch?"

Ayla reached out and ruffled Clotilde's hair. "I just reminded her that glass houses shatter easily."

Across the street, parked behind a delivery truck, a man sat in an unmarked sedan.

He lowered his camera. The long telephoto lens had captured the entire confrontation.

He connected the camera to his laptop, selected the photos of Ayla standing against the Maybach, and hit send.