Chapter 5

The silence in the ballroom was deafening. Everyone stared at the necklace on the floor, then at Chloe, their faces a mixture of shock, disgust, and morbid fascination.

Eudora snatched the necklace from the floor, clutching it to her chest. "I knew it!" she shrieked, her voice dripping with triumph. "A common thief! A snake we welcomed into our home!"

Kenya covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes wide with fake shock. But Chloe could see the glint of victory in them. She had planned this. She had set the trap, and Chloe had walked right into it.

"Chloe," Cornell said, and the disappointment in his voice was the cruelest blow of all. "How could you?"

"I didn't," Chloe said, her voice barely a whisper. She felt like she was drowning. "She planted it. Cornell, you have to believe me."

"Believe you?" Eudora scoffed. "The evidence is right here! Call the police, Cornell! I want this trash thrown in jail where she belongs!"

A murmur of agreement went through the crowd.

"Wait," Kenya said, stepping forward and putting a gentle hand on Eudora's arm. She looked at Chloe with pity. "Aunt Eudora, maybe we shouldn't involve the police. It would be such a scandal for the family. Perhaps... we can handle this ourselves. A family matter."

The phrase "handle this ourselves" sent a chill down Chloe's spine. In a family like the Welches, that meant something far worse than a jail cell. It meant a private, brutal punishment with no witnesses and no appeal.

"No," Chloe said, shaking her head. "I didn't do it. Kenya framed me!" She looked desperately at Cornell. "Cornell, please. We're husband and wife. You promised to always protect me."

Cornell wouldn't meet her eyes. He stared at a point just over her shoulder. "The Welch family has rules, Chloe. Rules that are older than both of us. A thief in the house... there is a tradition. A way to prove one's innocence. Or guilt."

Chloe remembered a story Eudora had once told, a chilling anecdote about a dishonest maid in the 19th century. A story about a path of burning coals in the mansion' s old Zen garden. She had thought it was just a morbid fairytale.

"Cornell, you can't be serious," she pleaded.

Kenya stepped closer, her voice a poisonous whisper only Chloe could hear. "He's very serious. Now be a good girl and take your punishment. Maybe if you scream loud enough, it will be entertaining."

"Hold her," Eudora commanded, her voice like ice.

The guards grabbed Chloe again. They dragged her towards the French doors that led to the garden, the crowd parting before them like the Red Sea.

They ripped her shoes from her feet. The cold marble floor was a shock against her bare skin.

"Cornell, don't let them do this!" she screamed, her voice cracking. "Look at me! I am your wife!"

He finally looked at her. But there was no love in his eyes. No mercy. Only a cold, weary finality. "You brought this on yourself, Chloe," he said, and turned away.

They pushed her out into the cold night air. The Zen garden, usually a place of tranquility, now looked sinister. In the center was a shallow trench filled with glowing, red-hot coals, smoke curling up into the darkness.

It was real.

They shoved her toward the path of fire. The heat washed over her, intense and terrifying.

"Walk," Eudora commanded.

Chloe looked back at the crowd huddled in the doorway. She saw Cornell, standing there, a silent, powerful observer, his face a mask of indifference. He was sanctioning this. He was watching his wife be tortured.

The love she had for him died a final, painful death in that moment.

A guard gave her a hard shove from behind. She stumbled forward, her bare foot landing on the first glowing coal.

The pain was beyond anything she had ever imagined. A searing, white-hot agony that shot up her entire leg. A scream tore from her throat, raw and animalistic. She tried to pull back, but they pushed her forward again.

Another step. Another scream.

Her flesh sizzled. The smell of her own skin burning filled the air. Through a haze of pain, she saw Kenya, standing next to Cornell, a delighted smile on her face. "What a performance," she murmured, loud enough for Chloe to hear. "Bravo."

Step after agonizing step, she was forced across the coals. Finally, she collapsed on the other side, her feet a bloodied, blackened mess. The world swam in a nauseating blur of pain.

They dragged her back into the ballroom and dumped her on the floor like a sack of garbage.

Cornell looked down at her, his face impassive. He took out his phone. "I'll have the family doctor come look at that," he said, his voice as casual as if he were ordering a pizza.

Kenya bounced over to him, grabbing his arm. "Enough of this boring stuff! Let's cut my cake!"

"Of course, my dear," Cornell said, his attention shifting to her instantly. He smiled, a warm, genuine smile that Chloe now knew was a lie.

The crowd dispersed, their morbid curiosity satisfied, and moved towards the cake. The string quartet started playing "Happy Birthday."

Chloe lay on the cold marble floor, broken and bleeding, listening to the sounds of their celebration. She heard the laughter. She heard the applause. She saw Cornell hand Kenya the knife, his hand over hers as they cut into the towering cake together. They looked so happy.

And in that moment, lying in the ruins of her life, Chloe Welch made a new vow. They had burned her. Now, she would burn them all to ash.