The Scorned Woman's Unstoppable Rise

andra

from Hector' s penthouse, but the party was already announcing itself. Loud, obnoxious music. Shouts and

r eyes, usually so composed, held a spark of fury. "Party

d picked up. My mind, still swimming from the concussion, felt strangely clear. The years of enabling, the quiet sacrifices, the co

eless. Just like Hector. I paused, a strange hesitancy washing over me. Part of me, the old Alessandra, wanted to retreat, to avoid an

cut through the pulsating music. It was a woman' s cry, raw an

door. I held up a hand, stopping them. I needed to he

h dramatic sobs. "...and she just fired me! For no reason! She' s al

from the partygoers. Chris was play

er family' s legacy!" Chris wailed, her voice escalating.

ive, portraying me as the aggressor, the jealous, spiteful

o a theatrical whisper, designed to pull at heartstrings. "She can' t stand to see me

ver once shown me. "There, there, my darling Chris. Don' t cry. She' s just a bitt

balled into fists, my knuckles white. He was not only condoning her li

o power. She' s just my step-sister. I' ll make sure she regrets this. I' ll find her, I' ll drag her here, and she'

rty. His friends, these superficial sycophant

ow her who' s boss

with Chris!"

my patience, of my misguided familial obligation, snapped. He was not just ungrateful. He w

whisper, but laced with a lethal i

ve, now held a glint of something akin to controlled sav

AS

that swallowed the music whole. The penthouse went silent. The bass died, the laughter c

slightly swollen, swept over the stunned faces, stopping finally on Hector, who sat on a plush sof

. My voice, when it came, was low, steady,

I asked, my gaze fixed