Chapter 13 - The Mask Comes Off
Claire sneered, her grip tightening on the industrial blade until her knuckles went pale. "I don’t care about leaving, Natalie. If I’m going down to federal prison, I’m taking your pretty face with me. Let’s see Julian look at you with starry eyes when your cheek is stitched together like an old rag!"
Claire lunged forward with sudden, desperate speed, the blade cutting viciously through the air toward Natalie's face.
Natalie did not freeze. Her months of feeling helpless in her own home had transformed into an ironclad will to survive. Instead of retreating, Natalie sidestepped sharply, swinging the heavy bronze desk lamp with both hands. The solid metal base struck Claire's forearm with a sickening crack.
Claire shrieked in agony as the knife clattered to the hardwood floor. But rage fueled the woman; she threw herself against Natalie, slamming her against the vanity table. Jars of cosmetics and water glasses crashed down, shattering into a thousand crystalline shards. Claire’s fingers clawed frantically toward Natalie’s throat.
"You took my life!" Claire hissed, her face inches away, eyes manic and dilated.
Natalie drove her knee upward into Claire’s midsection with explosive force. Claire gasped, doubling over, and Natalie shoved her violently toward the full-length mirror. Claire collapsed onto the floor amidst the broken glass.
At that exact moment, the locked door shuddered under a massive impact.
"Natalie!" Julian’s desperate shout pierced through the oak panels.
A second later, the deadbolt splintered apart as Julian and two towering private security guards breached the room. Julian took in the scene—the shattered glass, the blood dripping from Claire's bruised arm, and Natalie standing tall, chest heaving, the bronze lamp still clutched firmly in her hands.
Julian rushed to Natalie, pulling her back behind the broad shoulders of the guards. "Are you hurt? Did she cut you?"
"I'm fine," Natalie breathed, her voice remarkably steady despite the adrenaline roaring in her ears. "Secure her before she reaches for the blade."
The guards instantly pinned Claire to the ground, pulling her wrists behind her back and snapping heavy steel cuffs into place. Claire writhed like an animal caught in a snare, screaming incoherent obscenities, spitting blood from a split lip.
"Get off me! She ruined my life! She planned this! Look at her—she stole everything that was supposed to be mine!" Claire screamed as the guards hoisted her up.
The commotion had drawn a crowd to the corridor. Board members, hotel executives, and gala organizers stood in stunned horror as Claire Dalton was dragged out, her disguise ripped away, exposing her hysterical breakdown to the very social circle she had spent her life trying to impress.
Among the spectators standing near the mezzanine railing was Marcus Dalton, her estranged brother, who had arrived as a corporate trustee. Seeing his sister handcuffed, covered in dust and blood, screaming like a lunatic in public, Marcus buried his face in his hands, turning his back in utter disgust and shame. Her humiliation was absolute, televised by the flashing cell phone cameras of Manhattan’s elite.
Julian held Natalie tightly, his hands smoothing her hair, his breath trembling against her temple. "You don't have to go out there tonight. We can postpone the presentation. The board will understand."
Natalie looked at her reflection in the unbroken upper half of the vanity mirror. Her hair was slightly disheveled, but her eyes were burning with undeniable fire. She picked up a damp towel, wiped a smudge of dust from her cheek, straightened the lapels of her charcoal blazer, and looked at Julian.
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"Postpone? Absolutely not," Natalie said, a faint, triumphant smile touching her lips. "I spent ten years letting other people's chaos dictate my schedule. Tonight, they're going to hear my proposal."
Ten minutes later, as the sirens wuffled outside hauling Claire Dalton away to a high-security psychiatric holding cell, Natalie walked onto the main stage to a standing ovation.
