The main hallway of the Sterling mansion was known for its polished black-and-white checkered marble floor that mirrored the tall chandeliers hanging above. It was a home built on generations of money, legal agreements, and corporate power. Every detail in the house spoke of wealth, from the massive double doors to the fine artwork hanging along the pristine walls. But on this specific evening, the high ceiling and glossy marble did not bring any sense of comfort or peace. The air inside the grand entrance was thick with tension, heavy enough that anyone walking through the front entrance could immediately feel it. Margarethe stood near the center of the hall, her sparkling gold sequin gown catching the bright light from the crystal fixtures above. She moved with absolute confidence, holding herself like a queen who owned every piece of property as far as the eye could see. Her eyes, cold and sharp, were fixed on the young woman kneeling before her on the cold marble surface.
Hannah sat on the floor, her hands resting weakly against the cold stone as she tried to gather her thoughts. She wore a simple white dress, a modest outfit she had carefully selected for this high-stakes family dinner. She was not a part of this wealthy social class, and every step inside this mansion had made her feel out of place. Her blonde hair fell loosely around her shoulders, now damp and stained. Margarethe held a crystal pitcher in her hand, filled to the brim with thick red juice. With a cruel, deliberate smile, Margarethe tilted her wrist, pouring the dark liquid directly over Hannah’s head. The splash echoed off the tall walls as the red liquid ran down Hannah’s hair, staining her pale skin and ruining her clean white dress. Hannah gasped for breath, tears welling up in her eyes immediately from the sheer humiliation of the act.
"Why are you doing this to me?" Hannah asked, her voice trembling as she wiped the sticky liquid away from her eyes. "I came here because Brandon asked me to come. I never wanted any trouble with you."
"You do not belong in this home, nor do you belong in this family," Margarethe replied, her tone smooth, dry, and completely devoid of warmth. "My stepson might think he wants you here, but I will make sure he sees what a pathetic mess you really are before the night is over. A girl like you only wants his money, his inheritance, and this grand estate."
Hannah looked up, her chest heaving as she fought back sob after sob. "I don't care about his money or his trust fund. I care about Brandon."
"Words are cheap, my dear," Margarethe sneered, tossing the empty pitcher onto a nearby velvet couch. "And you are even cheaper. Now sit there and look like the foolish intruder you are."
The heavy wooden double doors at the end of the hallway suddenly rattled, signaling that someone was approaching from the front courtyard. Margarethe did not flinch; instead, her cruel posture changed in an instant. She adjusted the delicate straps of her sequin gown and took a step back, forcing a look of utter shock and horror onto her painted face. She was a master of grand performances, having spent years managing high-society image and corporate charity events. Hannah remained on the floor, shivering from the cold liquid and the weight of the endless cruelty. She wrapped her arms around her knees, feeling smaller than she ever had in her entire life. She wanted to run toward the door, but her legs felt heavy, stuck in place by the sudden shock of the cruel attack. The sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the grand hallway, growing louder with every passing second as the massive doors began to swing wide open.