Chapter 2 - The Mother's Stitches
The cruel, echoing laughter of several highly intoxicated guests rippled through the grand ballroom, making the seven-year-old girl feel smaller than a grain of sand.
Still aggressively pointing at the terrified child, Camille took a sudden, menacing step closer. The arrogant blonde fiancée didn't just want to verbally humiliate the little girl; she wanted a public spectacle of her absolute dominance over the domestic staff.
With a sharp, vicious, and entirely unnecessary movement, Camille reached out and physically flicked the bottom hem of the child's yellow cotton dress.
"What is this absolute garbage?" Camille sneered, her voice carrying over the string quartet playing in the background.
Lucia looked down at her own feet. The yellow dress was indeed old. It was faded from dozens of washes, and right near the hemline, there was a large, incredibly neat, hand-sewn patch covering a tear in the fabric. To the billionaire socialite, it was an offensive piece of trash. But to the little girl, it was the most beautiful thing she owned.
Tears immediately sprang to Lucia's bright blue eyes. Her tiny hands flew down, desperately grabbing the fabric of the dress, trying frantically to cover the damaged, patched fabric with her small fingers to hide it from the cruel, mocking gaze of the wealthy woman in the ivory gown.
"My mama made it," Lucia whispered quietly, her small, trembling voice cracking with a profound, heartbreaking vulnerability that should have shattered the heart of any decent human being in the room.
But Camille Whitmore was entirely devoid of human empathy. She was a woman who fed on the absolute destruction of those she considered beneath her.
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Hearing the little girl's innocent, desperate defense, a genuinely malicious, utterly toxic smile spread across Camille’s perfectly contoured face.
👉 Read Part 3 to see the arrogant fiancée escalate her cruel attack.
