Her Curated Vengeance

Chapter 3

Did that hell-spawned bastard Sebastian do something?! TALK TO ME!" Her voice was sharp, almost cracking with pure fury and terror.

"H-He..." I forced the word out, ragged sobs and gasps nearly swallowing it whole, "...wants... divorce... s-says... I... can't... can't have a baby..." Overwhelming shame and grief made me incoherent.

"Divorce?! BABY?!" Maya's voice became a full-blown roar, every word dripping with burning rage. "That cold-blooded, soulless bastard! How DARE he?! Has he forgotten the hell you went through?! Forgotten all those times... your babies..." She choked off, seemingly wrestling down the inferno of her anger, her voice shaking violently with emotion. "Listen, Eleanor! You listen to me! Stay put! Don't move! Lock the door! You hear me?! I'm coming! Right now! Immediately!"

The line went dead. Just the harsh, rapid dial tone.

Brrr… brrr… brrr…

That cold sound, right then, felt like a sudden lighthouse beam cutting through the dark abyss. Faint, but fiercely bright.

I clutched the phone, my body still shaking uncontrollably, cold tears dripping off my chin. But the suffocating weight in my chest… it felt like my friend’s furious, blazing anger had ripped a tiny tear in it. A sliver of air finally fought its way in. Outside, the drizzle seemed to have stopped. The thick clouds split open. A sliver of cold moonlight spilled silently onto the icy floor.

The dial tone after Maya hung up felt like icy raindrops, hammering relentlessly against my eardrum. I stayed curled on the expensive, freezing rug in front of my vanity. The dim glow from my phone screen lit up my tear-streaked, ghostly pale face – like some corpse dragged fresh from the grave. In the darkness, that faint light was my only company, and my only torture, spotlighting the complete wreckage of my world. Outside, the rain seemed to pound harder, that endless, miserable drizzle feeling like fate itself mocking me, washing over every brick of this gilded cage.

Time stretched into agony. Every second felt like a century. I hugged my knees, my body shaking uncontrollably, teeth chattering. Humiliation, rage, terror, and that suffocating grief – they coiled around my heart like icy vipers, squeezing tighter. Sebastian’s words, “You’re insane”, echoed like a poisonous curse in the empty room, trying to drag me down into that pit of self-doubt.

Just before the darkness swallowed me whole, before the echo of Sebastian’s “clearly you need a psychiatrist” could finish me off, I scraped together the last shred of strength in my trembling, numb fingers. I fumbled for the speed dial button on my phone – the only contact saved with a heart emoji.

The call connected. Words failed me. Only choked, broken sobs and ragged gasps, mixed with the drumming rain, flooded the receiver. Then the phone slipped from my useless hand, thudding softly onto the thick carpet. The world plunged into deeper darkness and the torment of waiting.

How long? Minutes? Half an hour? Despair was an icy flood, drowning me. Then—

A different sound ripped through the monotonous rain and the mansion’s frozen silence. Raw. Violent. Utterly defiant.

An engine roared. Deep, throaty, metallic – like a pissed-off beast charging through the wet night. Louder. Closer. Tires hissedand slapped on the slick road, throwing up huge sheets of water. Then, a screech of brakes that could tear the sky open, cutting off abruptly right outside the massive front doors.

Then, something even louder, angrier than the engine.

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

Someone was poundingon the heavy, carved oak door like they wanted to bring the whole damn thing down! Not knocking. Hammering. Each blow shook the dead heart of this cold mausoleum and jolted my numb nerves back to life.

Instantly, James the butler’s voice, trying for calm but edged with panic: “Who is it? Miss Rodriguez? Please, calm yourself! It’s the middle of the night, you can’t just—”

“Get the HELL out of my way, James!”A sharper, far more terrifying voice sliced through the wood – pure, unadulterated fury. ***“Unless you wanna be next on the demolition list! Where’s Eleanor?!”

The sound of James being shoved aside, stumbling maybe. The harsh scrape of the deadbolt being thrown. Footsteps – not Sebastian’s silent, controlling glide, but fast, furious clacksof high heels hitting marble. Like war drums. Coming up the stairs. Fast.

My bedroom door exploded inward with a CRASH! The wood slammed against the wall like it was screaming.

A blast of air hit me: cold rain, soaked wool, the burnt-rubber smell of tires, and pure, incandescent rage. Standing there in the doorway: Maya Rodriguez.

She looked like lightning split the rainy night. Her deep chestnut curls were plastered to her face and neck, dripping. Her expensive cashmere coat was soaked dark at the shoulders, the stain spreading. Rainwater tracked down her sharp jawline. But her deep brown eyes… they burned. Like stars forged in fire. They locked onto me through the gloom, ignoring everything else.

She didn’t give a damn about being soaked or the obscene luxury around her. Her gaze swept over me like a searchlight: the red marks on my jaw, my tear-wrecked face, my pathetic, shivering heap on the floor. Instantly, the fury in her eyes went supernova. It felt like she might actually *ignite* the silk wallpaper, the antique furniture, every trace of him right then and there.

“Where IS that motherfucker?!”Her voice was a drawn blade, rasping with fury and naked killing intent. Every syllable was ice and fire, a direct death sentence for Sebastian.

She didn’t wait for an answer. My state was the answer. A whirlwind of rain and rage, she crossed the room in three strides. Didn’t hesitate. Dropped to one knee right there on the rug, uncaring that her soaked coat dragged in the damp or stained the fancy fabric. Her hands – the ones that commanded courtrooms – shook slightly, but their grip was iron. She hauled me into a vise-like, crushing hug.

This embrace was nothing like Sebastian’s. No cold calculation. No fake comfort. It was wet, chilled from outside, but blazing with a furious, undeniable heat – rage, heartbreak, and a bedrock-solid strength. The smell of rain, wet wool, and her signature spicy perfume wrapped around me. Familiar. Warm. The only solid anchor in a hurricane. My shattered soul found a tiny foothold.

“Eleanor… Jesus… Eleanor…” Her voice was raw in my ear now, the fury banked to a low, agonized rasp, thick with unshed tears. She held me tighter, like she wanted to fuse me into her own bones, shield me with her body from the icy malice of this world.

That fierce, burning hug was the detonator. The humiliation of his grip, his cold dismissal, the bloody shards of memory from seven losses… All the dammed-up emotions exploded like a bomb in my chest.

“He… He w-wants…” My voice was sandpaper on stone against her wet shoulder. Huge, wracking sobs stole my breath. “…divorce… Says I… can’t… baby… can’t give him a baby…” Each word cut my throat.

“That SON OF A b***h!” Maya hissed, her arms around me turning to steel cables.

“He… said… I’m crazy… Maya… I’m scared… those… babies… gone… too many times… every time… too damn convenient…” Fear made me incoherent. The poisonous vines of suspicion I’d buried deep, now thrived in this sanctuary. “…the pills… his pills! And the doctor… that doctor…”

I spat it out in jagged pieces, gasping, sobbing, choking. The cold pronouncement over dinner. The humiliation he’d inflicted. The years of festering, unspeakable terror that those losses weren’t accidents – the fragmented fears and doubts poured out like shards of broken glass, sharp and bloody, screaming into the dark.

Maya listened silently, her arms still locked around me like a solid, unyielding fortress. But I could feel it – with every broken word I choked out, her body temperature spiked. It wasn't just anger; it was white-hot, incinerating rage. Her breathing turned ragged, heavy, suppressed, her chest heaving like she was wrestling a volcano ready to blow.

When I finally collapsed against her, spent, nothing left but hiccupping, jagged sobs, Maya sucked in a breath. It sounded like she’d inhaled molten lava. She loosened her hold just enough to clamp her hands like steel vises onto my shoulders, forcing my head up, forcing me to meet her eyes.

Those deep brown eyes weren’t just burning anymore. They were liquid fire – fury, shock, heartbreak, all hardening into something lethal. Cold. Decisive. Her gaze sliced through me like a scalpel, flaying away pretense, aiming straight for the rotten core. She locked onto me, her voice low, vibrating with iron will and an icy chill that seeped into my bones:

“Listen, sweetheart,” she used the old college nickname, but the tone was pure command. “You do not beg that bastard for scraps! You do not waste breath proving you’re sane to a man who calls you ‘crazy’! He doesn’t deserve your explanations!”

One hand shot off my shoulder and dove into her rain-slicked designer bag. No frantic digging. She unzipped an inner waterproof compartment with lethal precision and pulled out a slim, rigid black card holder. It snapped open with a sharp click. From it, she extracted a single card. Matte black, sharp as a blade, no frills. Just stark, raised white lettering that screamed cold, undeniable authority. She slammed it, hard and deliberate, into my cold, sweat-slicked palm.

The stark white letters stood out:

[VIVIAN STERLING

Sterling & Partners

Family Law | High Net Worth Divorce | Complex Dispute Resolution]

Below it, a phone number and an address right in the beating heart of the City of London.

Maya’s hand crushed mine over the card, pressing that black slab of power into my skin like she was transferring pure, unadulterated weaponry. Her eyes blazed.

“Vivian Sterling,” she bit out the name, a weird mix of reverence and venom. “The sharpest, coldest, most ruthless ‘Black Widow’ in London’s divorce game. She eats guys like Sebastian Ashcroft – arrogant pricks who think the law is toilet paper and climb over corpses to get ahead – for breakfast. She skins them alive. Nails them to the wall. Takes them for everything they’ve got—” She leaned in, her gaze dagger-sharp, driving the final point home, “—until they’re bankrupt, ruined, and rotting in the gutter. That’s her specialty. And that,” she hissed, “is the only ‘gift’ that bastard deserves from you!”

Her words hit like a thunderclap! The rigid, authoritative black card bit into my palm, but it felt like a brand – searing through the numbness and despair. A jolt of something new – sharp, electric, painful – shot up my arm, straight to my core.

Skinned alive. Nailed to the wall. Bankrupt. Ruined. Rotting in the gutter.

Hearing those brutal, bloody words from Maya, charged with that terrifying, destructive force… they weren’t just curses anymore. “Takes them for everything they’ve got” – that phrase, cold and precise, stabbed through the fog. Take it all? The money? The status? The golden Ashcroft name he worshipped? The empire he’d sell his soul for? Leave him with nothing? Dump him in the gutter he thinks he’s above?

For a man like Sebastian Ashcroft… that wasn’t just defeat. That was a fate worse than death.

Deep in the frozen wasteland of my despair, something stirred. Tiny. Sharp. Poisonous. Fed by the furnace of Maya’s embrace and the cold steel promise of that card, it pushed through the ice. For the first time, in the wreckage, something new began to coil and grow – cold, hard, and utterly unfamiliar. The seed of revenge.