Chapter 2 - The Hallway Slap
The double doors at the end of the emergency wing burst open with violent force, shattering the hospital’s heavy silence.
Celia Holloway strode down the hall like a queen whose reign had been insulted. She wore a tailored cashmere coat, dark diamonds at her throat, and an expression of pure, unadulterated venom. Trailing two steps behind her was Bernard Holloway, my father-in-law, looking tall, flushed, and imposing in his signature tailored suit.
They had already spoken to the attending physician over the phone. They knew how their only son had died. They knew about the hotel room. They knew about the missing woman.
Yet, as Celia reached me, her eyes didn't fill with tears for her dead child. They filled with absolute rage directed entirely at me.
Before I could speak, Celia lifted her manicured hand and slapped me across the face.
Crack.
The sound echoed off the polished linoleum floors. A security guard at the nurses' station snapped his head toward us, taking an immediate step forward, but I raised a single finger to hold him back.
My left cheek burned like fire. I didn't stumble. I didn't cry out. I simply turned my head back slowly and met her gaze.
"This is your doing!" Celia hissed, her breath smelling of heavy amber perfume and panic. "You killed him!"
"Celia, calm down," Bernard grunted, though his eyes were equally cold as he glared down at me. "Not here."
"No, Bernard! Look at her!" Celia pointed a trembling, diamond-encrusted finger at my face. "Look at how cold she is! Not a single tear! My boy was lonely, do you hear me? He was forced into the arms of another woman because you were never a real wife to him!"
"Grant made his own choices, Celia," I replied, keeping my tone strictly controlled.
"Choices?" She let out a harsh, bitter laugh that sounded like dry leaves scraping pavement. "You forced his hand! You spent every waking hour glued to your computers, acting like you were superior to this family. You were too cold, too severe, and too plain to keep a vibrant man like Grant satisfied."
"He was seeking comfort!" Bernard chimed in, stepping closer to intimidate me. "A real man needs a woman who knows how to make him feel important. You treated him like an accessory to your precious company."
They genuinely believed every word coming out of their mouths. In their eyes, Grant wasn't a cheating, lying thief—he was a noble prince who had been driven to tragedy by a cold, ambitious wife. They didn't see the woman who funded their country club memberships. They only saw a plain girl who had dared to outshine their golden boy.
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"You never deserved him," Celia whispered, leaning in so close I could see the spiderweb veins in her eyes. "He was the life of every room. You were just the shadow he was forced to bring along."
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