His Uncle, My Sweetest Revenge

Joanna turned on the cold water tap and splashed her face, trying to scrub the phantom scent of cedar and tobacco from her skin. She needed to regain control of her mind. Before she could reach for a towel, a violent pounding echoed through the apartment. Someone was smashing their fists against her front door. Joanna's stomach tightened. She walked quickly to the security monitor in the hallway. The screen showed Freddie standing in the corridor, his hair disheveled, his face twisted in an ugly, drunken rage. He kicked the heavy door, screaming her name. Her finger hovered over the emergency panic button that would summon building security. But a police presence would mean another tabloid headline. She couldn't afford that right now. She took a deep breath, unlocked the deadbolt, and opened the door. Freddie didn't wait. He shoved his shoulder against the wood, bursting into the apartment. A sickening wave of stale alcohol and cheap cologne hit Joanna's face. "You bitch!" Freddie roared, pointing a shaking finger at her. "Did you call the studios? Did you tell my grandmother to put Jessie on that plane?" Joanna didn't flinch. She didn't step back. The fear she used to feel around him in her past life was completely gone, replaced by a cold, hollow disgust. She turned her back on him and walked calmly to the kitchen island. She picked up a glass pitcher and slowly poured herself a glass of ice water. Freddie's face turned purple at her silence. "Look at me when I'm talking to you!" He lunged forward and swept his arm across the marble island. A heavy crystal fruit bowl shattered against the hardwood floor, sending shards of glass flying in every direction. Joanna set her glass down. The sharp clink of the glass against the marble cut through the ringing silence. She looked at the shattered glass, then slowly raised her eyes to his. Her gaze was lethal. "If you break one more thing in my home," Joanna said, her voice dropping to a chilling monotone, "I will have security drag you out by your hair." Freddie let out a harsh, mocking laugh. "Your home? You're nothing but a prop my family bought to make me look good. You think you can control my life? You think you can take away the woman I actually love?" Joanna heard the word "love" and a dark, bitter smile curled her lips. She placed both hands on the edge of the island, leaning forward, looking at him like he was a pathetic insect. "If you love her so much," Joanna whispered, her words dripping with venom, "why didn't you leave? Why didn't you renounce your trust fund, hand over your shares, and run away with her?" Freddie's jaw snapped shut. The color drained from his face. "That... that has nothing to do with this. I have a right to my money!" "You want the crown, but you don't want the weight," Joanna sneered, her voice rising, slicing through his ego like a scalpel. "Jessie is gone because you are weak. You couldn't protect her from your grandmother, so you come here to scream at me because I'm the only target you think won't hit back." Freddie's eyes widened in shock, then narrowed into pure, humiliated rage. He had been stripped bare. "Shut up!" he screamed. He lunged around the island, his hand reaching out to grab her by the throat. Joanna's reflexes kicked in. She sidestepped his clumsy, drunken grab. Her hand shot out to the knife block on the counter. She pulled out a six-inch paring knife and spun around. The sharp steel tip stopped exactly one inch from Freddie's chest. Freddie froze. He looked down at the blade, then up at Joanna's eyes. There was no hesitation in her stare. Her hand wasn't shaking. She looked entirely capable of driving the steel straight into his heart. "Get out," Joanna commanded, her voice devoid of any human warmth. "Before I call my lawyers, get your pathetic face out of my sight." Freddie swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. He slowly raised his hands in surrender, backing away from the blade. "You're going to pay for this, Joanna," he spat, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and hatred. "I swear to God." He turned and practically ran out of the apartment, slamming the door so hard the walls shook. The moment the latch clicked, the adrenaline left Joanna's body. Her knees buckled. The knife slipped from her fingers, clattering against the floor. She slid down the side of the cabinets, hitting the floor hard. Her chest heaved. She looked down at her trembling hands, but the tremor wasn't from fear-it was from the sheer, intoxicating rush of newfound power. A profound realization washed over her mind. In her past life, she would have cowered, weeping helplessly in the corner while he destroyed her sanctuary. But tonight, her hand had been steady as stone holding that blade against his heart. This bone-deep ruthlessness was entirely alien to her, a dark evolution that terrified her just as much as it liberated her. The phantom memories of him locking her in the asylum crashed over her. She bit her lip hard, the physical pain grounding her back in reality. She pulled her phone from her pocket and dialed her assistant. "Clara," Joanna said, her voice shaking slightly before she forced it into a cold, hard line. "I need you to compile a list. Everything Freddie hates. His most despised restaurants, the art exhibits he loathes, the social events that make his skin crawl." "Joanna? What are you planning?" Clara asked, confused. Joanna looked at the shattered glass on the floor. A cruel, calculated smile touched her lips. "I'm going to be the perfect, loving fiancée," Joanna said. "I'm going to suffocate him with so much public affection that he loses his damn mind."