Chapter 7 - The Stripping of the Crown
Juliette stood alone at the top of the altar stairs, surrounded by cascading white orchids, tulle, and shattered crystal. Her bridal veil was trampled beneath her feet.
I walked up the remaining steps until I stood less than two feet from her.
Up close, without the glow of the chandelier to flatter her, she looked hollow. The panic had drained the color from her cheeks, leaving her skin dull beneath her heavy makeup.
“You think you won?” Juliette whispered, her lips trembling with venom. “Look at you. You’re a freak. A scarred, broken freak. You don’t have a face left. You think anyone is going to bow to you now? You think you can take back the company looking like a monster?”
“I don’t care about the company, Juliette,” I said softly. “And I don’t care about my face. Every scar on my skin is proof that I survived what you tried to do to me.”
I raised both hands. My fingers, scarred and stiff from contractures, reached behind her neck.
Juliette flinched, trying to pull away, but she backed straight into the wooden altar cross. There was nowhere left to run.
With steady fingers, I unclasped the heavy gold lock of our mother’s emerald necklace.
The weight of the stones slipped into my palm—cold, smooth, and deeply familiar. Mother had worn this the day she taught me how to read financial balance sheets in her sunlit library. She had worn it the day she told me that true power never screams; it simply endures.
I pulled the necklace free from Juliette’s neck.
May you like
She gasped, clutching her bare throat as if I had stolen the very breath from her lungs.
“This belongs to Mother,” I whispered. “And Mother knew exactly what you were.”
