CRACK!
Elara's slap exploded across Bianca's cheek. No warning. Pure, distilled fury.
Bianca gasped, stumbling wildly. She crashed onto the sofa, clutching her face. Shock, then burning humiliation flooded her features. "Elara! You bitch! How dare you?!"
Elara's hand throbbed, hot and numb. Her face was flushed, her usual warmth replaced by icy rage. "Dare?" Her voice shook. "You drugged me. You hired a man to rape me. You annihilated any line, Bianca."
"ELARA!" Claire shrieked, rushing to her daughter.
But Bianca was already moving. Fury ignited her. She launched off the sofa, shrieking, "I'LL KILL YOU!" Nails like claws raked towards Elara's eyes.
Elara jerked back, raising her arms. Too slow. Sharp nails scraped her skin. Then, blinding pain tore through her scalp as Bianca fisted her hair and yanked hard.
"Ah!" Tears threatened, but Elara gritted her teeth. Never show weakness to her. Fueled by pain and rage, her own hand shot out. She grabbed a fistful of Bianca's perfect hair and pulled back with savage force.
"LET GO!" Bianca screamed, head wrenched sideways.
"Make me!" Elara spat, holding on tight.
They were locked now: a brutal tangle of tearing nails, viciously pulled hair, and desperate grunts. Two cousins, transformed into feral enemies, fighting like animals in the elegant penthouse.
Claire's face twisted with rage and panic. Seeing Elara pin Bianca to the floor, hands locked around her daughter's throats, she lunged. With desperate strength, Claire grabbed Elara's shoulders and yanked her backwards. Off-balance, Elara stumbled.
A sharp, stinging blow exploded across the back of Elara's head— Claire's fist. The shock loosened Elara's grip instantly. Bianca gasped, sucking in ragged breaths as Elara was hauled away. Seizing the moment, Bianca lashed out, her sharp nails narrowly missing Elara's cheek.
"ENOUGH!"
A man's voice, raw with fury, cracked through the room like a whip. Commanding. Absolute.
Robert Hayes sat in his wheelchair, having silently navigated the lift down. His arrival froze the scene. Bianca chocked on the floor, eyes wide with residual fear. Claire instantly dropped to her knees beside her daughter, pulling her close, murmuring frantic reassurance. "Shh, baby, it's okay. Mama's here. Are you hurt? Look at me!"
Bianca crumpled against her mother, dissolving into loud, theatrical sobs of pure victimhood. "She tried to kill me, Mama! She chocked me!"
Meanwhile, Elara had been flung hard onto the polished floor. Pain radiated through her body— the fresh sting of the scratches, the throbbing ache at her skull, deep muscle soreness, and the humiliating, brutal ache between her legs, a constant reminder of Bianca's orchestrated violation. Her legs trembled violently, useless as jelly. Gasping for air that felt like shards of glass, she pushed herself up slowly, painfully, onto her hands and knees. Every movement was agony, physical and soul-deep.
The urge to cry was a crushing weight, a desperate pressure behind her eyes, but she swallowed it down, chocking on bitterness. Tears wouldn't help. There was no comforting embrace. Only the cold floor, the burning scratches, the accusing stares, and the suffocating knowledge that she was utterly, devastatingly alone.
Against the stark black of her down coat, Elara's face was terrifying pale. Streak of drying blood stood out like crimson graffiti on her cheekbone. Her eyes were raw, bloodshot pools; her hair, a wild, tangled crown of chaos. She looked like a ghost who'd crawled from hell.
Robert Hayes took in the devastating sight. Fury, white-hot and righteous, surged through him. His hand slammed down on the wheelchair armrest with a CRACK that echoed in the sudden silence. "Claire!" His voice was a whip, sharp enough to flinch skin. "You call yourself an elder? Instead of separating them, you wade in like a fishwife! Making a spectacle before breakfast! Is that how you manage this house?!"
The lash of his words visibly burned Claire. Her pampered face darkened, a storm cloud settling over her features. She glared at her husband, lips pressed into a thin, furious line, but remained silent, radiating icy resentment.
"Dad!" Bianca wailed, seeing Robert's protective focus shift towards Elara. She clutched her throat dramatically, tears streaming. "Why yell at mom? She hit me first! It's always my fault! Saint Elara can do no wrong! Look! Just look!" She thrust her face forward. The angry red imprint of Elara's slap bloomed across her cheek. Below it, livid red marks circled her throat. With smudged makeup and tear-streaked cheeks, Bianca looked genuinely pitiful— perhaps even more wretched than the blood-streaked Elara.
Robert's fierce expression flickered. Seeing the visible marks on his spoiled daughter, the ingrained habit of leniency softened his initial outrage. The rigid fury in his shoulders eased slightly.
Elara watched he shift. A tremor ran through her lashes. The injustice of it, the sheer exhaustion, and the bone-deep ache from the fight and the lingering violation of the night before threatened to drown her. Her voice, when it finally broke the silence, was thick with unshed tears and the raw scrape of betrayal: "Uncle Robert…"
It was a fragile sound, cracking under its own weight. She forced the words out, each one a shard of glass in her throat. "Last night… Bianca drugged me. She hired a man… an old man… to… to rape me. He took me… to a hotel room…"
"Liar!" Bianca screamed, cutting Elara off, her face flushing crimson with panic. "I haven't left the house! You're the one disappearing, crawling home at dawn reeking of cheap cologne! Got yourself in trouble and now you blame me?!"
Stalking me. The realisation hit Elara like ice water. That's how she knew my movements, connected with Porter. Same old Bianca: wreak havoc, then lie and twist.
Elara ignored her. Instead, she fixed her tear-bright, furious eyes directly on Robert's stormy face. Her voice cracked, raw with betrayal. "Uncle Rob, I heard her." A sob choked her. "Bianca… she said she'd leak the video… of that old man… ruin me online… so Julian would dump me… so I'd have to go back to him.
"Enough of you filth, Elara!" Claire hissed, stepping protectively in front of her trembling daughter. "Bianca can be difficult, yes, but this? Harm her own cousin? Tarnish the Hayes name? It's absurd!"
"Absurd?" Elara's laugh was brittle, chilling. "You're right, Aunt Claire. Why would she?" Her gaze, cold as flint, locked onto Claire, then Bianca. "Unless it's about Grandpa's money? My inheritance?" Her voice sharpened, cutting through the room. "Is that worth trying to destroy me? And Julian…" Her tone turned lethally smooth. "Do you really think he won't hunt down whoever set this up? What happens when finds you?"
Silence. Thick. Suffocating. The air crystallised into ice.
Robert's face darkened, thunderous. His gaze, sharp and glacial, pinned Claire, then Bianca. "Did you do this?" The question was a low rumble, heavy with disbelief and building fury. Elara wouldn't fabricate this. Not about something so vile. She'd never lied. Not like them. The inheritance detail… it rang terrifyingly true.
Claire blanched, her skin turning ashen. The old bastard changed his will at the last minute. She'd only stumbled upon the truth. Robert remained blissfully ignorant. Of course he'd favour that little bitch Elara over his own wife and daughter! How could he possibly understand our desperation?
Bianca flinched under her father's stare, biting her lip hard. "Dad!" She cried, voice shrill with indignation. "I'm your blood! She's nothing! An outsider! You believe her wild stories? Fine! Make her prove it! Show us the evidence!" Panic vibrated beneath the bravado. So what if she heard? It's her word against mine. No witness. This dies here. A flicker of defiant smugness touched her eyes.
Elara saw it. The tiny spark of triumph. She didn't flinch. Instead, she took a slow, deliberate breath. Kneeling, she retrieved her bag from the door. Her movements were calm, precise, utterly controlled. She pulled out her phone. "You're right, Bianca," Elara stated, her voice unnervingly steady. "Evidence is crucial. Which is why I recorded everything you said to Aunt Claire."
The calm certainty in her voice was more terrifying than any shout. She didn't look like she was bluffing.
Bianca's pupils dilated, pure terror flashing across her face before morphing into vicious denial. "Liar!" She shrieked, lunging forward instinctively, only held back by Claire's sudden grip on her arm. "You're lying! You didn't record anything! You're tricking us!"
Claire's own eyes were locked on the phone, wide with drawing horror. Every muscle was taut, poised if to snatch it away.
A cold, knowing smile touched Elara's lips— not triumphant, but chillingly resolved. She extended the phone towards Robert, the screen facing him. "Uncle Rob," she said, her voice clear and cutting through Bianca's hysterics. "The recording is right here."