Chapter 2 - The Cold Scissors|
Vanessa didn't call for security. She didn't ask Rosa to step forward. Instead, she turned toward the grand floral display resting on a glass pedestal nearby.
Beside the imported orchids sat a pair of heavy, silver floral shears—eight inches of polished steel, designed to snap clean through thick stems.
Vanessa reached out, her five-figure silk gown rustling softly, and picked up the heavy shears.
A quiet murmur rippled through the nearest cluster of guests. Conversations faltered. Glasses were lowered halfway to lips.
Vanessa walked toward the kitchen archway with deliberate, measured steps, her heels clicking like gunshots against the marble.
Mia sat on her stool, clutching her worn rabbit to her chest, her dark eyes wide and confused. She didn't know what high fashion was. She didn't know what status meant. She only saw a tall woman in a silver dress staring down at her with eyes like ice.
"Your hair is a mess," Vanessa said softly, her voice carrying across the hush that had suddenly fallen over the room. "Unkempt. Dirty. It ruins the line of my entry hall."
Vanessa raised the shears. The blades parted with a sharp, metallic screech.
"Vanessa, stop!" Rosa cried out, bursting through the kitchen doors with a stack of linen napkins in her hands.
Rosa dropped the napkins. They fluttered to the floor like fallen snow as she sprinted toward her daughter.
"Don't you dare come any closer," Vanessa commanded without looking back, her thumb resting on the heavy finger loop of the shears. "Your child is an eyesore. If you can't groom her properly before bringing her into Adrien's house, I'll do it for you."
Vanessa reached out with her left hand, grabbing a handful of Mia’s soft, dark curls.
Mia whimpered, squeezing her eyes shut, pressing the stuffed rabbit against her face.
"Please!" Rosa sobbed, stopping three feet away, her hands shaking so violently she couldn't breathe. "Please, Miss Cole, she's three years old! Take me, fire me, just don't hurt my baby!"
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"Quiet," Vanessa sneered.
The scissors were already open when the room went quiet. Forty of the city's wealthiest guests stood frozen, watching a woman in a five-figure gown decide a child's hair didn't belong in that house.
