Charles flicked his gaze over Sophia sprawled on the marble floor.
He clicked his tongue in quiet disdain.
All that time and cash he’d funneled her way—her and that vulture of a mother–could go up in smoke if he didn’t salvage the situation.
And he’d been so close to getting her into his bed, to boasting he’d seduced one of the top five most beautiful women in Vancouver.
A real waste if it all ended here.
He ran a hand through his hair, shot an irritated glance at the raging Bella, and stepped toward her.
“Bella, come on,” he said in a low voice. “Don’t you think you’ve gone a little too far?”
Bella’s eyes flashed with contempt.
She didn’t reply. She just raised her hand and smacked Charles right across the face–loud enough to make the entire ballroom freeze.
Gasps hissed through the air.
Charles Kingston, the so–called Prince of Vancouver, getting slapped around in front of half the city’s elite?
That was a headline all on its own.
Bella didn’t give a damn.
She jabbed a finger at him. “You still dare to side with this bitch?”
“I’ll destroy her until even ashes feel like a mercy. Get out of my banquet!”
A storm of murmurs whipped around them.
Charles’s cheeks burned hot.
Everyone stared, some smirking, some in shock.
He clenched his fists, itching to slap Bella back. But Jericho Kane, looming behind her, was too big a problem.
Charles could practically taste the humiliation.
“Fine,” he muttered, swallowing his pride. If he had to wait ten years to get his revenge, so be it.
With a final glare, he stormed toward the exit.
His face was on fire, and so was his anger.
As he reached the entrances, an idea ignited in his head. He whipped out his phone, typed a quick text:
“Sophia Lancaster is getting destroyed by Bella Kane at her own banquet. She’s gonna get her drunk, make her dance naked, live stream the whole thing. She’s done for–unless you hurry.”
He sent it off–to Alex–then laughed under his breath.
He believe Alex will call Jessica for help.
1/4
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“Let’s see how Bella versus Jessica? When they tear each other apart…” He smirked, “I’ll pick up the pieces.”
He was still chuckling when hurried footsteps sounded behind him.
“Charles, wait!” Clara’s soft voice called.
She jogged up, eyes darting nervously between him and the banquet hall.
“Are… are you leaving now? Can I come with you?” She glanced over her shoulder as though someone might pounce.
“I never thought Sophia really stole that bracelet. I’m… I’m scared.”
Charles arched a brow. He’d almost forgotten about Clara.
Cute, and apparently eager. He gave her a slow once–over.
She blushed but pressed in closer, hugging his arm, her body trembling just enough to awaken his lust.
“Charles,” she whispered, leaning in. “I… I’ll do anything if you can keep me safe. Promise.”
Her perfume was sweet and tempting. Charles curled his arm around her waist, savoring the feel.
“Relax,” he purred, tilting his head. “I know just the right place to spend the night.‘
And with that, they were gone.
***
Meanwhile, Bella rammed the neck of the whiskey bottle against Sophia’s lips, grinning like a hyena in heels, hell -bent on turning humiliation into sport.
“Drink it, you bitch,” she hissed, loud enough for the entire room to hear.
“Isn’t this what gutter girls like you live for?”
She was forcing–a show for the vultures gathered around, laughing, watching, filming.
She was rough. She was ruthless.
But Sophia wasn’t stupid.
Her instincts screamed–if she drank, they’d play with her, strip her dignity, and ruin her.
After that, her name would be in the dirt, and the entire Lancaster Group would crash with her.
Offending Bella Kane wasn’t a big deal on its own–Lancaster’s business was based in Vancouver.
But a ruined name? That would destroy everything.
She refused the whiskey.
She resisted with all her strength. She would not be made drunk.
“You really think you can say no to me?” Bella spat, grabbing a fistful of Sophia’s hair and wrenching her head back. “You stupid, stuck–up bitch.”
Then came the slaps. Brutal. Unrelenting. Each one a crack of rage echoing through the banquet hal!
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“You think you’re better than me?!” Bella shricked.
You think you can touch my fiance and walk away clean? When I say drink–you fucking drown!”
Sophia’s check split. Blood smeared across her lips, mixing with mascara and the shimmer of humiliation.
Bella stepped back, panting with fury.
“You,” she snapped to one of the guards, “gel me another Bottle. I’m not done with this plastic–faced tramp.”
As the guard let go of her left arm, Sophia moved fast.
Too fast.
Her hand darted for the shattered bottle on the floor.
She gripped it, still on her knees, and without hesitation, swung up hard.
The glass exploded against Bella’s cheek.
She screamed, staggered, crumpled to the ground holding her face.
Silence.
Gasps.
Shock.
People froze like statues. No one dared breathe.
Sophia–she–had struck first blood.
At Bella Kane’s party.
A tiny, savage smile flickered across Sophia’s battered lips.
But she didn’t get to enjoy it.
Bella roared, wild and red–eyed. She lunged. Her fingers found Sophia’s hair again, yanking her forward–and
then-
CRACK.
Sophia’s head slammed against the marble floor.
Blood spilled immediately, dark and thick, trailing into the spilled wine.
Bella towered over her, rabid. “You fucking nobody! You dare scar me?!”
She raised a leg and stomped–heel–first–into Sophia’s side.
Iron stiletto. Straight into soft flesh.
Sophia screamed. The sound was raw, involuntary.
Bella wasn’t done.
She stomped again–this time, right onto Sophia’s feet.
The crunch was sickening. Bone and nail and flesh gave way under the spike of the heel.
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“Let this be a lesson,” Bella hissed. “You crawl into my world, you don’t leave walking.”
Again.
And again.
Each stomp was a message: You don’t belong here.
By the time Bella stepped back, Sophia was barely conscious.
Her dress ruined, her hands mangled, her face a mess of blood and pain.
She looked less like a woman and more like a rag doll left out in the rain.
The crowd? They watched. Cowards and social climbers. No one stopped it. No one helped.
Even monsters need an audience.
“She’s out,” one of the bodyguards muttered.
Bella scoffed. “Took her long enough. Weak little fraud.”
Then she glanced down at the girl at her feet–bleeding, broken.
Her voice dropped, cold and flat.
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“Lock her up,” Bella said, her voice ice–cold and dripping with venom. “Call those filthy street rats man. Let them take turns ruining her–film everything.”
She leaned in closer, staring down at Sophia’s bloodied body like it was trash.
“I want every second caught on camera. Make it brutal. Make it unforgettable. When they’re done, dump what’s
left of her into the street naked. Let people feast on her like the bottom–feeding slut she is.” (1
