"Let me go!"
Natalie Pierce’s scream echoed against the gold-leafed molding of the ceiling. Driven by a primal surge of indignation, she swung her free hand, aiming a sharp blow at Armand Plemons's face. But the idol was quicker. He caught her wrist mid-air, his grip tightening like a metal vice.
"You b***h, you dare try to touch me?"
Armand’s voice had lost its melodic charm, replaced by a jagged, hysterical snarl. To him, his face was more than a feature; it was a holy relic, a masterpiece of modern aesthetics insured for over a hundred million dollars. It was his currency, his power, and his god. The very idea of it being marred by a "common" woman sent him into a localized frenzy.
Without a second thought, he swung his palm back and delivered a brutal, heavy strike to Natalie’s che
