Chapter 3 - The Price of Humiliation
Celeste was not satisfied with just making the child cry. She wanted blood. She wanted complete, utter humiliation. She took a step closer, her ivory silk gown dragging carelessly through the smeared buttercream frosting. She looked down at Marisol, her upper lip curling into a sneer of pure, unfiltered disgust.
"Are you deaf, or just incredibly stupid?" Celeste demanded, her voice dripping with aristocratic condescension. "I said, get this filthy little brat out of my ballroom immediately."
Marisol kept her head bowed, her arms still locked protectively around her trembling daughter. She had taken this grueling, double-shift catering job specifically to afford Daisy’s asthma medication. When her babysitter had canceled at the absolute last minute, Marisol had no choice but to bring her daughter and hide her in the pantry, praying no one would notice. But somehow, Daisy had wandered out.
"I am so sorry, Miss Vale," Marisol choked out, her voice barely a whisper above the silent, watching crowd. "She didn't mean to. I'll clean it up. I'll pay for the damages—"
Celeste let out a sharp, theatrical bark of laughter that sent a shiver down Marisol’s spine. It was a cold, cruel sound that held absolutely zero humor.
"Pay for the damages?" Celeste mocked loudly, making sure every single elite guest in the room heard her. She gestured dramatically to the massive pile of destroyed sugar roses and crushed sponge. "Look at you. You are wearing a polyester uniform that probably cost twenty dollars. You couldn't pay for one single layer of that cake if you worked in my house for the next ten years."
The cruelty in her words hung heavy in the opulent air. A few of the wealthy guests murmured in agreement, casting disdainful looks at the mother and child huddled on the floor.
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Marisol bit the inside of her cheek so hard she tasted copper. She swallowed her pride, her dignity, and her anger. She just needed to get Daisy out of there safely before things escalated any further. She shifted her weight, preparing to stand up and run out the servant's exit.
👉 Marisol was ready to swallow her pride and run, but the bride wasn't finished destroying her yet.
