Chapter 3 - The Unmasking
Victoria covered her ears, screaming at the top of her lungs as shards of wood and porcelain rained down around her. Eleanor stumbled back, clutching her chest, looking around wildly for the private security guards who had mysteriously vanished from their posts.
David lowered the bat, the tip resting squarely on the pristine marble floor. He hadn't touched a single hair on Victoria's head, but the message had been carved directly into her soul: his restraint was holding on by a thread.
"Where is the locket, Victoria?" David’s voice was dead, calm, and terrifyingly cold.
"I—I don't know! It was an accident!" Victoria sobbed, all of her high-society elegance stripped away. "The chute was open! It slipped!"
"You're lying," a crisp voice rang out from the archway.
Every head turned. Standing near the entrance of the ballroom was Marcus Sterling, Clara’s cousin and the family’s longtime estate attorney. He held a sleek black smartphone in his hand, his expression carved from stone.
"Marcus!" Eleanor gasped, trying to regain her footing. "Thank God you're here. Call the police! David has lost his mind! He’s threatening to murder my daughter!"
"Save your breath, Eleanor," Marcus said coldly, stepping into the center of the hall. He raised his phone, tapping the screen. A loud, high-definition video began playing through the mansion’s connected Bluetooth speakers.
Victoria’s recorded laughter blasted through the hall. On the screen, clearly visible to every horrified guest, Victoria and her inner circle were gathered around the cellar door. Lily’s muffled sobs could be heard echoing through the metal grate, begging to be let out.
*"Let the little beggar cry,"* Victoria’s recorded voice sneered over the speaker. *"Maybe when she starves for an hour, she’ll understand that her dead mother was nothing but a waitress who trapped my brother. Look at this pathetic locket. Cheap nickel. Throw it in the incinerator."*
The guests broke into murmurs of disgust. Influential patrons, city council members, and wealthy donors took deliberate steps backward, distancing themselves from Eleanor and Victoria as if they were carrying a plague.
"You filmed it?" Eleanor whispered in horror, staring at her daughter. "You idiot... why did you film it?"
"She didn't just film it," Marcus said, his eyes drilling into Eleanor. "She posted it to her private social club group chat to brag about putting Clara’s daughter 'in her place.' One of your club members had enough decency to send it directly to me."
David knelt down beside Lily. He gently scooped her up into his arms, wrapping his jacket around her soiled, torn dress. "Did it go into the furnace, Lily?"
May you like
Lily snuffled, pointing a trembling finger toward the hall closet. "No... she didn't throw it down the chute. She put it in her designer clutch. She laughed and said she was going to pawn it for pocket change."
David turned slowly toward Victoria’s designer bag lying on the floor beside the smashed table.
