Chapter 6
The resounding crack of Roxanne’s palm striking Penelope’s face echoed off the massive glass ceilings of the conservatory, sounding like a whip cracking in an empty cavern. The sheer kinetic force behind the blow was devastating.
Penelope’s head snapped violently to the side. The heavy diamond rings on Roxanne’s hand left deep, angry red marks across her cousin’s pale skin. Penelope let out a garbled cry as her feet left the ground entirely. She spun wildly backward, her lavish floral-print chiffon maxi dress flaring out around her like a parachute as she completely lost control of her momentum.
She crashed heavily into the freestanding shade-panel rack positioned near the edge of the room.
The tall metal rack shuddered violently under the impact before giving way. Rolled fabric sun shades tumbled rapidly from their storage slots, raining down around her like heavy pillars. Foam planter sleeves scattered across the wet tile, bouncing into the legs of the terrified guests. Soft plant ties spilled entirely across the floor, tangling around Penelope’s strappy high heels. Empty, lightweight plastic watering cans bounced harmlessly across the tile, clattering loudly against the glass walls.
The heavy metal frame of the rack tilted sideways with a loud groan, collapsing entirely and burying Penelope beneath a mountain of folded garden cloths and heavy canvas shades.
There was no dialogue. The entire room held its breath, absolutely paralyzed by the swift, brutal demonstration of absolute power. The affluent donors, who usually hid behind their checkbooks, now fully realized they were standing in the presence of true, untethered violence.
Roxanne stood tall in the center of the wreckage. Water still dripped steadily from her deep emerald silk jumpsuit, pooling on the expensive tile beneath her stiletto heels. She breathed slowly, her chest rising and falling with controlled rhythm, her face a mask of terrifying, cold fury.
She didn't look at the capos. She didn't look at the bodyguards who were now firmly blocking every single exit from the conservatory, effectively sealing everyone inside.
Roxanne slowly turned her head and walked deliberately from the unconscious Harrison toward the collapsed shade-panel rack where Penelope was currently struggling to untangle herself from the heavy garden cloths.
Penelope gasped for air, pushing a roll of fabric off her chest. Her pearl necklace had snapped during the fall, the expensive pearls scattering across the wet tile like marbles. Her perfect hair was a mess, her face already swelling violently from the slap. She looked up, her eyes wide with absolute, primal terror as she saw Roxanne standing over her.
"Roxanne... please," Penelope choked out, her voice trembling uncontrollably. She pressed her back against the metal bars of the collapsed rack, trying desperately to scramble away, but there was nowhere to go.
Roxanne looked down at her cousin, the water still dripping from her hair onto her tailored shoulders. Her voice, when she finally spoke, was quiet, measured, and absolutely lethal.
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"A little lesson?" Roxanne whispered, the words carrying a musical cadence of impending doom. She slowly crouched down so she was at eye level with the terrified woman. "I’ve got a little lesson for you too."
Penelope’s face became instantly frightened, the color draining entirely from her skin as she realized her life was no longer in her own hands.
