The ice-cold marble floor felt like a sheet of frozen glass against Clara’s back as she clutched her bruised belly in the grand foyer of the Dallas mansion. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, highlighting the high-key black-and-white checkered marble floor and illuminating a massive framed American flag hanging on the stark white wall. She gasped for air, her simple beige dress torn at the hem, her small body trembling with terror as she shielded her six-month pregnant stomach from the looming shadow above her.
Standing directly over her was Victoria, her stepmother, dressed in a sweeping maroon gown with a daring thigh-high slit that made her look like a predator hovering over prey. Victoria’s face was twisted into a mask of pure malice, her red lips drawn back in a cruel snarl as her expensive heels clicked against the polished stone floor. She had spent the last three years taking over the family business, hiding the late patriarch’s real will, and trying to erase Clara from existence.
Victoria: Look at you, whimpering on the floor like a dog. You were never supposed to come back here!
Clara: Please, Victoria... think about the baby. I just came to get my father’s medical records!
Victoria: I don't care about your baby or your father's memory! You were supposed to disappear forever!
Clara: He left half the estate to me! You forged the probate papers, and you know it!
Victoria: Nobody will ever believe a broke, desperate girl over me! I own this mansion, I own the trust fund, and I own this family name!
Victoria raised her hand, her manicured nails catching the bright indoor light as she stepped even closer to Clara’s helpless body. Clara closed her eyes tight, curling up on the cold checkered floor, praying that someone would walk through those doors before it was too late.