Chapter 5
987 Words
Every gaze in the room turned to Kirsten, like a barrage of burning spotlights that left her nowhere to hide. Pity, mockery, and gleeful malice swirled in those looks, but not a single one held kindness.
Kirsten stood alone, the most glamorous—and most pitiful—fixture in the entire spectacle.
Marion, arm in arm with Verena, made his way toward her through the parted crowd. With every step he took, a colder wave of dread settled deeper in Kirsten's chest.
"Happy birthday, Kirsten," Verena chirped first, voice syrupy sweet, her flawless smile steeped in venom.
She slipped free from Marion's arm and walked up to Kirsten like they were old friends, completely ignoring Kirsten's icy stare.
"Marion said you love surprises," she went on, clapping her hands toward the banquet doors. "So we planned something extra special."
The grand hall doors swung open again.
Two servers entered, leading a sleek, muscular black Doberman.
The dog was massive, its coat glossy under the chandeliers, its every movement taut with tension. A heavy spiked collar ringed its throat. It panted, low and sharp, its growl barely contained.
The moment Kirsten saw it, her blood froze.
A scream buried deep in her memory clawed to the surface. The piercing bark, the excruciating pain of flesh tearing, the warm stickiness of blood soaking her pants...
Five years ago, Marion had crossed a rival during a business deal. On their way home, they were ambushed, and the enemy unleashed two vicious hunting dogs.
As the beasts lunged for Marion, Kirsten didn't hesitate. She threw herself in front of him, taking the brunt of the attack.
One of the dogs had sunk its teeth deep into her leg. The scars had never faded. Neither had the fear.
Since then, large dogs triggered a visceral terror in her. Marion knew this better than anyone.
Yet now, he allowed Verena to turn her deepest fear into a birthday "gift", parading it before everyone.
"Kirsten, what's wrong? Don't you like it?" Verena tilted her head, feigning confusion. Her innocent expression clashed starkly with the venom glinting in her eyes. "It's a Doberman, loyal guard dog. I thought, since you live alone, it'd keep you safe."
Kirsten stood frozen, her fingertips so cold they felt brittle. She stared intently at the dog, her breath shallow and labored.
Marion finally sensed something was wrong. His brow furrowed, but before he could say anything, Verena gave a dramatic gasp and let go of the leash. "Oh no!"
The rope fell, and the Doberman, startled, broke free from the servers' hold and charged into the crowd. Guests screamed, scattering in panic as chaos erupted.
The black beast tore through the hall, slamming into a towering champagne pyramid of over a hundred flutes.
With a deafening crash, the crystal tower collapsed.
Amber champagne and shards of glass cascaded like a violent waterfall, raining down on Kirsten and Verena, who stood closest.
And in that single, fateful moment, Marion made his choice.
He lunged forward, wrapping Verena, who shrieked, "Marion, save me," in a protective embrace, shielding her with his back from the deluge of glass and liquid.
Kirsten, just six feet away, faced the onslaught alone.
Icy liquid soaked her from head to toe. Razor-like shards sliced across her arms and legs. Blood began to bead and trail down her skin, vivid streaks of red blossoming like cruel flowers against her champagne-colored gown.
"Marion, my hand... it hurts so much," Verena whimpered in his arms, lifting her hand to show a shallow scratch from a tiny glass fragment. Tears spilled down her cheeks.
Marion glanced at the faint mark, his face darkening with fury. He cradled her hand gently, blowing on the scratch, then whipped around, his eyes like daggers as he snapped at Kirsten, "What are you doing just standing there? Couldn't you move out of the way?"
His words cut deeper than the glass, laced with a venom that stung worse than her wounds.
Her greatest fear had been dragged into the open, and he'd chosen to protect someone else without a second thought. Now, as she stood soaked, bloodied, and battered, she got nothing but blame.
Kirsten looked at Verena—unscathed, save for a shallow scratch—sobbing theatrically in Marion's arms like a wounded child. Then she looked down at herself: skin scored by glass, arms streaked with blood, her once-elegant dress soaked, shredded, and stained.
And then, she laughed.
Soft and breathless, the sound sliced through the shocked silence like a shard of glass.
"Rena's bleeding. I need to get her to a hospital," Marion declared, his eyes never once straying from Verena's tear-streaked face.
He scooped her up as he had before, his face raw with worry and tenderness.
He strode past Kirsten, not sparing her a glance, as if the blood streaming down her arms was nothing more than an unfortunate fashion choice.
The guests, too stunned to speak, watched this absurd scene unfold.
Marion carried Verena away, leaving the supposed star of the evening there like a cruel punchline.
Kirsten stood still, the mingled scent of champagne and blood sharpening her senses.
She walked slowly to the stage and picked up the microphone left by the emcee.
Blood still dripped from her arm, splattering on the polished floor in rhythmic, crimson drops.
She took a deep breath, summoning every ounce of strength to keep her voice steady. Her words, amplified by the microphone, reached every corner of the banquet hall.
"Thank you all for coming to my birthday celebration tonight."
Her voice was soft—almost gentle—but each word landed with cold, undeniable finality.
"The party is over."
She turned and walked away, spine straight, gaze unflinching. The bloodstained hem of her gown trailed behind her like a tattered banner of defiance.
Alone, she exited the banquet hall.
The night meant to celebrate her had ended in humiliation.
- Writer
