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The Jilted Heiress In Blood Red

The Jilted Heiress In Blood Red

Harlene was locked out of her own family's estate in a freezing blizzard, still trembling from a severe panic attack. Her mother delivered a cold ultimatum through a security screen: attend her golden-child sister Estella's award gala, or lose her medical funds. To make it worse, her ex-fiancé, Dennis, had chimed in to call her embarrassing and pathetic. At the gala, Harlene was treated like a diseased outcast. Dennis fiercely protected his new lover, Jailyn—the very woman who had stolen Harlene's designs. But the ultimate betrayal came when Estella flaunted a silver-embroidered antique dress. It was Harlene's grandmother's dress, her only pure memory of love, handed over to the enemy as a trophy. When Harlene demanded answers, her own father slapped her across the face in front of the press, just to protect their pristine image. They had stolen her career, her fiancé, and her inheritance, all while branding her the crazy, unstable daughter. The sheer hypocrisy and cruelty finally severed the last thread of her sanity. Why should she play the silent victim while they played the perfect family? Instead of crying, Harlene smiled. She drew a hidden dagger, slashed the antique dress to ribbons, and dragged Estella and Jailyn to the center stage. Standing under the blinding spotlight with a bloody blade, she looked out at the terrified crowd. "The Beaumont family is done hiding," she declared into the microphone. "Tonight, the curtain falls."
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Chapter 7

Tess pulled Harlene into a darker corner. "What the hell are you doing?" she demanded. "You're painting a target on your back." Harlene smoothed the skirt of her red dress. "Targets are the best way to lure out the hunters." Tess sighed, rubbing her temples. "Dennis and Jailyn are plotting something. I saw them in the corner." Harlene followed Tess's gaze. Jailyn was walking toward Estella, two glasses of champagne in hand. Instead of awkwardness, the two women embraced like old friends. Harlene's eyes narrowed. Seeing them together confirmed the ugly truth she’d already suspected. Jailyn wasn't just Dennis's dirty secret; she was Estella's weapon, and the trap was finally in motion. Estella hadn't just stolen her parents' affection. She was orchestrating the public destruction of Harlene's love life. Tess looked at her, worried. "Harlene, are you okay?" Harlene's fingers brushed the hilt of the dagger hidden against her thigh. A slow, icy smile spread across her face. "If they want a show, I'll give them one they'll never forget." Estella noticed them. She took Jailyn's arm and walked over, her smile that of a victor. "Harlene," Estella said, her voice sugary sweet. She then turned to a nearby senator, her expression shifting to one of deep concern, though her voice remained loud enough for Harlene to hear. "It's my fault, Senator. I shouldn't have worn this. It must be triggering for her. The doctors warned us she's been off her medication." Jailyn stepped up, her chin raised. "He trusts me now. More than he ever trusted you." Harlene let out a soft laugh. She looked from one face to the other. "Birds of a feather. It's disgusting." Estella put a hand to her chest, feigning hurt. "You're always so hostile. It breaks my heart." The people around them turned to stare, their judgment palpable. Harlene took a step forward. Estella flinched back. Harlene didn't attack. She looked past Estella's shoulder. "Any special plans for the finale?" she asked casually. Estella blinked, confused by the shift. "The award was the finale." "Boring," Harlene said, shaking her head. "It needs more... spark." Jailyn scoffed. "What are you going to do? Have another breakdown?" Harlene turned her gaze to Jailyn. Her eyes were flat and empty. "Like bleeding out on stage?" Jailyn's hand shook, her champagne sloshing over the rim. Estella grabbed Jailyn's arm. "Let's go. She's lost it." As they turned away, Harlene's eyes locked onto Estella's dress. The light hit the embroidery, illuminating the intricate pattern. The air left Harlene's lungs. She recognized that pattern. It was the Beaumont family crest, woven in silver thread over a century ago. It was her grandmother's dress.

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