Is she Worth It?

Chapter7

The next morning, the bullying didn't stop; it just became more sophisticated.

When Elara walked into her Law Ethics class, she found a stack of papers on her desk. They weren't shredded notes this time. They were copies of a "Lease Agreement" for Marcus Vance’s guest house. Someone had leaked the address. Someone had added a "Monthly Payment" column that was listed as Zero Dollars.

Beneath it, in bold red letters, someone had written: HOW MUCH IS YOUR DIGNITY WORTH PER SQUARE FOOT?

The room was a chorus of snickers. Sienna was sitting in the front row, looking like a saint in a white blazer. She didn't say a word, but the smirk on her face told the whole story.

Elara felt the familiar sting of tears, but she refused to let them fall. She picked up the papers, walked over to the trash can in the front of the room, and dumped them.

"Is that the best you’ve got, Sienna?" Elara asked, her voice steady. "Paper and ink? You’re an heiress. I expected something a little more... creative, no wonder Julian ignores your calls. Maybe he's... bored of you."

Sienna’s smirk vanished. The room went dead silent. Julian, who had just walked in, froze at the door. He saw the fire in Elara’s eyes—the same fire that had made him fall for her in the first place.

He wanted to clap. He wanted to walk over and stand by her. Instead, he had to walk over to Sienna, put his arm around her, and sit down.

The air in the University Club was so thin it felt like it might c***k. Elara’s comment about Julian ignoring Sienna’s calls hung in the air like a poisoned cloud.

Sienna didn’t scream. She didn’t even flinch. She just set her gold-rimmed teacup down with a click that sounded like a bone snapping.

"You’re quite bold today, Elara," Sienna purred, her eyes scanning Elara’s grey silk dress with a look of clinical pity. "I suppose that’s the Vance influence. Marcus always did like picking up strays and teaching them how to bark. But let’s be honest—you can put a silk dress on a cockroach, but it’s still going to run for the shadows when the lights come on."

Elara leaned forward, her fingers tightening around the edge of the table. "I’d rather be a cockroach that survives than a trophy that’s only kept around because the owner is too afraid to admit he bought a lemon. You aren't Julian’s fiancé, Sienna. You’re his father’s insurance policy. And even insurance policies get cancelled when they become too expensive."

A few students at the neighboring table whispered. The "shade" wasn't just a burn; it was a public execution of Sienna’s dignity.

Sienna’s face went pale, her composure finally fraying at the edges. She leaned over the table, her voice dropping to a low, lethal hiss that only the table could hear.

"You think you’re so clever, don't you? You think you’ve found a new protector in Marcus. But you’ve forgotten one very important thing, Elara. Your mother isn't in a guest house. She’s in a small, cramped apartment with a paper trail of 'fraud' that I can turn into a prison sentence with a single text message. How’s her heart, by the way? I hear she’s fragile. I wonder how she’ll handle the stress of a federal indictment."

The world stopped.

The mention of her mother—the woman who had worked two jobs to buy Elara’s first set of highlighters, the woman who was the only reason Elara was still standing—snapped the last thread of Elara’s self-control.

CRACK.

The sound of Elara’s palm connecting with Sienna’s cheek was like a gunshot in a cathedral. Sienna’s head snapped to the side, her chair skidding back against the marble floor.

The entire class went dead silent. The whispers stopped. Everyone froze.

Julian gasped, his chair flying back as he stood up, his eyes wide with a mixture of horror and a dark, twisted sense of pride, but before anyone could move, Sienna lunged forward.

Her face was twisted into a mask of pure, unadulterated rage. Her hand was raised, fingers curved like talons, ready to tear into Elara’s face.

"You little—!"

But her hand never landed.

Marcus Vance moved with the speed of a predator. He didn't stand up; he simply reached out and caught Sienna’s wrist in mid-air. His grip was like a steel vice. He didn't squeeze, but the stillness in his eyes was more terrifying than any shout.

"That’s enough, Sienna," Marcus said, his voice a low, vibrating growl. "You’ve had your fun for the day."

"Let go of me, Marcus!" Sienna shrieked, her voice cracking. "She hit me! You saw it! Everyone saw it!"

"I saw a girl defending her family," Marcus said, standing up and releasing her wrist with a flick of his hand that sent her stumbling back, Elara, we’re leaving."

Sienna stood there, a bright red handprint blooming on her pale cheek. She watched them walk out, her chest heaving. She didn't cry. She didn't scream. She reached into her clutch and pulled out her phone.

"You’ve just signed your mother’s death warrant," she whispered to the empty air.