Chapter 4 Another Smack
999 Words
A man stepped out of the shadows.
The moment he appeared, it felt like all the light in the world had gathered around him.
His hair shimmered like molten gold, and his eyes were a piercing lake of green—fiery and calm, two opposing forces effortlessly blended into a mesmerizing, almost otherworldly beauty.
The sight of him stole my breath.
Kris Howard. The man who had once lifted me from the icy pit of my loveless family, only to push me into an even deeper abyss. How was he here?
My chest tightened as I fought to suppress the rush of memories. This was the man who, two years from now, would appear at my birthday gala as if he'd descended from heaven. When I was humiliated by a carefully planned scheme, he had draped his suit jacket over me to shield me from prying eyes. Afterward, he pursued me with relentless charm, treating me like a princess, wrapping me in the illusion of a fairytale.
I had believed in him and loved him with every fiber of my being. He was my prince, my savior. I married him with tears of joy, exchanging vows that felt like promises from a dream.
But the fairytale ended on our wedding night. When I approached him, trembling with nervous excitement, he had pushed me away with chilling indifference. "This is a marriage of convenience," he had said. "You're just a tool."
My love for him became a chain, pulling me deeper into a prison of jealousy and despair.
I threatened the women who lingered around him, desperate to hold on to what little I had. My last act before I died was to beg him not to divorce me.
Before those memories could consume me, something warm and heavy fell over my shoulders—a familiar suit jacket, carrying the faint, rich scent of ebony wood.
I looked up at Kris, my instincts screaming to back away.
"Hey, easy there," he said softly, his voice laced with a warmth that made my chest tighten further. "No need to be scared. I mean no harm."
I stared at him, my emotions a tangled knot of resentment and longing.
"Sorry about this, Kris," Conrad interjected, stepping forward to smooth over the tension. "Just a little misunderstanding between the kids. What brings you back?"
"I forgot my cufflink. You know, my mother gave them to me," Kris said, lifting his right arm to reveal the absence of one.
The open cuff of his shirt revealed a sliver of pale wrist, the remaining sapphire cufflink on his other sleeve gleaming like a raindrop frozen in time.
"Kris..." Fiona's voice was soft, trembling like the mewl of a kitten as she approached, stepping between us. "I was so scared. Thank goodness you're here."
Tears shimmered in her doe-like eyes, her expression pitifully fragile, like a dew-kissed lily bowing in the breeze.
Of course, they knew each other.
Same social circle, same elite schools. How could they not?
I watched as Fiona reached out, her delicate hand aiming for his sleeve.
Her movements were light, but her gaze burned with naked longing.
She liked him. And she wanted to use this moment to get closer to him.
I wouldn't let her. Not my enemy. Not like this.
Before her fingers could brush his sleeve, I thrust his jacket back at him. "Thank you," I said, holding it out firmly.
The suit jacket formed a barrier between the three of us, and I looked Kris in the eye, defiance etched into my face. "Here. Take it back."
Fiona hesitated, her hand faltering before she withdrew it awkwardly.
Kris blinked in surprise and then smiled faintly, as if indulging a stubborn child.
But I knew I had successfully diverted his attention.
Men like Kris thrived on admiration, on the silent battles women waged for their favor.
I knew him too well. In my past life, he had toyed with my jealousy, offering crumbs of affection just as I resolved to walk away, rekindling my infatuation with a mere flick of his charm.
Kris took the jacket but placed it back on my shoulders with deliberate care. "You look like you need it more than I do," he said, his voice teasing yet gentle.
My throat tightened as tears welled in my eyes.
How pathetic—I was still crying over this man's false kindness.
"She's just pretending." Cyrus' cutting voice broke through, shattering the fragile moment. "Kris, don't let her fool you. She's a lying wh—"
The slap echoed sharply, and for a moment, everything stilled.
Cyrus turned to me, clutching his cheek, his face contorted with disbelief. "You hit me?" he hissed. "You actually hit me?"
"Yes," I said coldly, meeting his furious gaze head-on. "I hit you. What of it? I've just come back from where I was recovering, and the first thing you do is try to smear my name in front of everyone?"
I glared at him, my voice cutting with frustration. "Is it because I'm their biological daughter, and you're just the adopted son? Is that why you're so desperate to smear my name? Are you afraid Mom and Dad will love me more than you?"
Mom. Dad.
I'd said them aloud, effortlessly, as though I hadn't spent hours choking on the words before.
Cyrus' face turned ashen, but he couldn't respond.
I'd left him cornered. To admit it would be to expose his insecurity. To deny it would mean forfeiting any chance to question the Andersons' future decisions.
His gaze darted to Conrad and Eleanor. They remained silent. When he turned to Fiona, she avoided his eyes, lowering her head as if too frail to speak.
With no allies, Cyrus stormed back into the house, his footsteps heavy.
I watched him retreat, my heart cold with satisfaction. Did he think running away would solve anything?
No, of course. He'd insulted me. And I wouldn't let him get away with it.
- Writer
