Her Icy Comeback: A Vengeful Heiress
Five years ago, my guardian, Fitzgerald Kirk, sent me a video of my childhood horse being led to a slaughterhouse. Then he cast me out, broken and penniless.
Tonight, I returned to his family' s annual gala, no longer a helpless ward but a powerful woman ready for my revenge.
But he and his fiancée, Cassondra, still saw me as the trash they threw away.
She taunted me, asking if I' d run out of money, before "tripping" and drenching my white silk gown in red wine.
She looked at me with glee, expecting the broken girl from five years ago to cry.
Fitzgerald just watched, a bored smirk on his face as he told me to crawl back to whatever gutter I came from.
They wanted a reaction. They wanted the hysterical girl they had destroyed.
They had no idea that the memory of my horse' s death had frozen everything inside me, fueling a cold rage that had simmered for half a decade.
I didn' t even glance at the stain. Instead, I calmly picked up a full bottle of champagne from a passing waiter' s tray.
"Don' t worry," I said, my voice dangerously soft. "Accidents happen."
Then I swung the bottle and smashed it against her head.
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Chapter 3
Blair Phillips POV:
Fitzgerald' s hand shot out, clamping around my neck before anyone could react. The air was violently forced from my lungs. Black spots danced at the edges of my vision as he squeezed, his thumb pressing into my windpipe.
"I should have killed you five years ago," he snarled, his face inches from mine. His eyes were no longer filled with cold amusement, but with pure, murderous rage. This was the real Fitzgerald, the monster I knew so well.
He slammed me backward. My body hit the floor hard, the impact jarring my bones. The shattered glass from the champagne bottle dug into my back and arms, sharp stabs of pain that were nothing compared to the pressure on my throat.
He was on top of me in an instant, one hand still crushing my neck, the other grabbing a fistful of my hair and yanking my head back.
"Kneel," he commanded, his voice a low, terrifying growl. "Kneel and beg for my forgiveness."
My hands clawed uselessly at his wrist, my nails scraping against his skin. I couldn' t breathe. The world was narrowing to a dark tunnel.
"I gave you everything, Blair," he hissed, his face contorted in a mask of psychotic fury. "I gave you a home. A name. Your life is mine to give, and mine to take away."
A sick, twisted smile spread across his lips. "But I won' t let you die. Not yet. That would be too easy." He leaned in closer, his breath hot against my ear. "You' re my favorite toy. And I' m not done playing with you."
The memory of a video call flashed in my mind. It was from Cassondra, a week after I' d been exiled. She was laughing, showing off a new diamond bracelet.
"Fitz bought this for me," she had cooed, her voice dripping with malice. "A little thank you gift. For getting rid of the competition."
She had then flipped the camera, showing Fitzgerald in the background, staring out a window. "He was so disappointed you didn' t put up more of a fight for your precious horse," she' d said. "He wanted to see you break. He told me he loves watching the light die in your eyes."
Her voice had dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "Be careful, Blair. If he gets tired of me, you might be next on his list. And he won't be satisfied with just killing you."
The memory fueled a final, desperate surge of defiance. I gathered the little saliva I had left in my mouth, thick with the metallic taste of blood from my bitten lip, and spat it directly into Fitzgerald' s face.
A glob of red landed on his perfectly sculpted cheek.
His eyes widened in shock, then narrowed in pure revulsion. For a moment, his grip on my throat loosened as he recoiled.
It was all the opening I needed.
I gasped for air, a raw, ragged breath that burned my lungs.
"Disgusted, Fitz?" I rasped, a bloody smile stretching my lips. "Good. Get used to it."
I mimicked his earlier tone, my voice a broken, mocking echo of his own. "I' m not done playing with you either."
My gaze flickered past him to the horrified faces in the crowd. "I came back to make every single person who hurt me pay," I declared, my voice growing stronger with every word. "And I always start with the one at the top."
Fitzgerald' s face was a thundercloud of rage. He wiped the spittle from his cheek with the back of his hand.
"Fine," he said, his voice dangerously calm. "You want to play? Let' s play."
He stood up, towering over me. "Security," he called out, his voice ringing with authority. "Watch her. Don' t let her move."
He then turned his back on me, walking over to Cassondra, who was now being tended to by her friends. He knelt beside her, his expression softening into one of gentle concern as he brushed a stray, blood-soaked strand of hair from her face.
"It' s okay, darling," he murmured, his voice now a soothing balm. "I' m here. I' ll take care of it."
Cassondra dissolved into theatrical sobs, burying her face in his chest.
I pushed myself into a sitting position, my body screaming in protest. The sharp edges of glass dug deeper into my skin, but I barely felt it. All I could feel was the searing heat of my hatred.
The whispers started again, this time laced with a cruel sort of pity.
"She' s a fool to challenge him."
"Did you see the way he looked at Cassondra? He truly loves her."
"Poor girl. She never stood a chance. She' s just an orphan he took in. She should have known her place."
Someone near me took out their phone. A video started playing. The sound of a terrified horse. My horse. Comet.
The sound hit me like a physical blow, stealing the air from my lungs all over again.