When She Strikes Back

Chapter 4: Next Target

The Sterling mansion was a tomb of cold marble and silent secrets as I pushed the heavy oak doors open.

I didn’t bother to be quiet. My stilettos clicked sharply against the floor, a rhythmic, metallic announcement of my return. Each step was a heartbeat—not of fear, but of anticipation.

I didn't even have to turn on the light. I knew he was there. The clink of ice against glass warned me. The smell of expensive whiskey and stale aggression hung in the air of the living room like a poisonous fog.

"You're late." Jonas’s voice sliced through the darkness, jagged and thick with a brewing storm. He was sitting in his armchair, a silhouette of wounded pride, his face illuminated only by the pale moonlight filtering through the high windows.

"I didn't realize I had a curfew," I said, my voice airy and light, mocking the very gravity he was trying to project. I tossed my clutch onto the velvet sofa with a careless thud.

He stood up, his movements heavy and menacing. "I saw you leave, Cassandra. I saw that dress. I saw the way you looked at me—like I was nothing. Who was he? Which of your pathetic 'friends' did you run to so you could cry about how mean my mother is?"

He stormed into my personal space, his hand snaking out to grab my shoulder and spin me around. I didn't fight him. I let him pull me into the harsh light of the foyer chandelier. The moment his eyes landed on my neck, the air in his lungs seemed to vanish.

The bruises Percival had left were dark, blooming like angry violets against my pale skin. They were unmistakable. They were violent. They were a brand.

"What... what the hell is this?" Jonas’s voice shook. His face turned a terrifying shade of crimson. He reached out, his thumb bruising my skin even further as he rubbed the marks as if he could erase the reality of them. "Who touched you? Who did this to you?!"

"Does it really matter, Jonas?" I smiled, and for the first time, I leaned into his touch instead of flinching. I saw the pure, unadulterated confusion flash in his eyes. "You told me earlier that touching me was a 'chore.' You told me I was boring, remember? So, I went out and found someone who disagreed. Someone who... well, he was very diligent with his work."

"You b***h!" He raised his hand, his eyes wild.

I didn't blink. I just looked at him with a predatory hunger that made his hand freeze in mid-air.

"Careful, Jonas," I whispered, stepping flush against him until I could feel the heat radiating off his body. I reached up, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw, moving down to slowly undo the first button of his shirt. "You might have found your 'interns' to play with, but don't forget... you’re still my husband. No one knows the Sterling secrets like I do, right?"

I leaned in, trailing my nose along the pulse point of his neck. I could feel his heart hammering against his ribs. I pressed my body against his, my thigh sliding slowly, deliberately between his legs. I let out a soft, shaky breath against his ear.

"Cassandra..." he groaned. The rage in his eyes was being swallowed by a desperate, confused lust. He had never seen me like this—not the maid, but a siren who knew exactly how to make him bleed.

I kissed his jaw, my hands sliding down to his waist, pulling him tight against me. I felt it—the sudden, hard pressure of his desire against my thigh. A surge of visceral disgust washed over me, but I masked it with a low, sultry moan. I had him. I had the Great Jonas Sterling begging for a scrap of the woman he had just insulted.

I felt his hands grow frantic, reaching for the zipper of my dress, his breathing ragged and hot against my skin. Just as he leaned in to claim my mouth, I pulled back sharply.

I looked down at the bulge in his trousers, then back at his flushed, pathetic face. I let out a small, mocking smirk, my eyes turning as cold as the rain that had once killed me.

"Actually," I said, patting his cheek patronizingly, "I’m suddenly exhausted. That man earlier... he really took it all out of me. He was so... vigorous. I think I'll save you for a day when I'm bored. Let’s do this some other time, shall we?"

I turned on my heel and walked up the stairs, the sound of my laughter echoing back to him as he stood in the dark, trembling with unspent tension and humiliated rage.

The next morning, the sun rose with a vengeance. I lay in bed, the memories of the future clicking into place like the tumblers of a safe. Today was the day. George Sterling, my father-in-law—the only man in this family with a shred of power I could use—was returning from his business trip.

In my past life, I had dressed in a high-necked, drab sweater to hide the bruises Fina had given me. I had wanted to look like the perfect, submissive daughter-in-law.

Not today.

I slipped into a sheer, black silk nightdress that barely reached my mid-thigh, the lace detailing doing nothing to hide the vivid hickeys on my neck and collarbone. I didn't even bother with a bra; let them see the "scandal" they had created.

As I descended the stairs, the sound of high-pitched, greedy squealing met my ears.

In the foyer, Fina was in her element. She was surrounded by a mountain of orange Hermes boxes, Chanel shopping bags, and wooden crates. Delivery men were still streaming in. Her eyes were wide with a gluttonous light.

"Oh! George really outdid himself!" Fina laughed, her voice like glass on a chalkboard. "He must have felt so guilty for being away. Look at this Birkin! It’s limited edition!"

She looked up and saw me. Her joy instantly curdled into a mask of pure disgust. "What are you doing down here dressed like a harlot? And where is your bra? Have you no shame, you common girl?"

I ignored her, walking straight to the delivery lead who was holding a clipboard. "Are these for me?"

"Yes, ma'am," the man said. "Sixty-four packages addressed to Cassandra Kingsley-Sterling. Please sign here."

I took the pen, my heart giving a strange little skip. Sixty-four packages? Percival was faster than I thought. I had expected a few dresses to get me through the week, but this... this was an arsenal. He really was taking this war seriously. A small smirk touched my lips. He was flamboyant, yes, but he was efficient.

The delivery man then handed me a small, cream-colored envelope embossed with the Lancaster seal.

I tore it open. Inside was a heavy card with elegant, sharp handwriting.

[ Wear these well, darling. I made sure to send pieces that will truly highlight your new personality—the kind that makes you look like a seductive b***h. Don't waste my hard work.

- Percival Lancaster]

I couldn't help it; a short, sharp laugh escaped my throat. He really was the perfect ally.

"What?!" Fina shrieked, lunging forward like a harpy and snatching the clipboard. "These are from my husband! They must be! Why would the delivery man ask the maid to sign for my luxury gifts? Give me that!"

"Because they aren't from George, Mother," I said, taking the clipboard back with a sharp tug and scrawling my name. "George is still on his way from the airport. These are from... a friend I made last night. He said I deserved to be draped in something better than the 'scraps' this family gives me."

Fina’s eyes landed on my neck. The hickeys stood out like blood on snow. Her face went from pale to a deep, bruised purple. "You... you disgusting, low-class w***e! Look at your neck! You’ve brought a man's filth into this house while my son was sleeping? You used our name to slut yourself around the city?!"

"What’s all this noise?" Jonas appeared at the top of the stairs, looking hungover and frustrated. He looked at the boxes, then at the marks on my collarbone.

"Jonas!" Fina cried, pointing a shaking finger at me. "Look at her! She’s spent your money on all this trash to mock us, and she’s flaunting her infidelity in our faces! She’s a disgrace! I want her out! I want her in the gutter where she belongs!"

I leaned against the banister, my hand casually resting on my collarbone, tracing the bruises with a smug smile. "It’s not Jonas’s money, Fina. Like I said, it’s a gift. From someone who actually knows how to appreciate a woman. He said I was much more... responsive than the bored socialites he's used to."

Fina let out a guttural scream of rage. "I’ll kill you! I’ll tear that smug look off your face!"

She lunged at me, her hand raised high. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the black sedan pull into the driveway.

George was here.

I didn't move. I didn't defend myself. I waited until the exact moment the front door clicked open, and then I leaned my face directly into Fina’s path.

SLAP!

The sound was thunderous. My head snapped to the side, and I let myself fall to the floor, a soft, pathetic sob escaping my lips. I clutched my burning cheek, looking small and broken as the heavy scent of rain and cigars entered the room.

"What is the meaning of this?"

George Sterling stood in the doorway, his suitcase hitting the floor with a heavy thud. He stared in absolute horror as his wife stood over his half-naked, bruised, and weeping daughter-in-law, her hand still raised in violence.

"George!" Fina gasped, her face turning white.