Chapter 8 - The Viper's Last Strike
Two weeks passed.
The story of the Vance wedding had swept through the town like a wildfire. The high-society socialites who had previously bowed down to Martha Vance were now competing to see who could gossip about her downfall the loudest. The newspaper run by Thorne National Bank tried to bury the story, but independent blogs and local social media had picked up the footage leaked by a catering waiter.
The video of Martha holding my cut braid and laughing, followed by Arthur Vance’s grand entry, had gone viral online, accumulating millions of views. The public outrage was overwhelming. Martha Vance had become the national poster child for cruel mothers-in-law.
Meanwhile, Nick and I were settling into a quiet, happy routine.
My short haircut had become my signature look. I had gone back to work at the local interior design studio where I worked as a junior consultant, and to my surprise, clients were suddenly requesting me by name. People admired the dignity with which I had handled the public scandal.
Nick had officially severed his business ties with Thorne Bank and accepted a partnership offer from his grandfather’s logistics firm, heading up their new sustainable architecture division.
Everything was going right—until a rainy Tuesday afternoon.
I was working late at the design studio on Main Street. The office was quiet, the rest of the staff having left at five o'clock. I was sitting at my drafting table, reviewing blue stain swatches for a restaurant client, when the front door chime chimed soft melody.
"We're closed for the evening," I called out, not looking up from my blueprints.
"I know you're closed, Nora," a cold, sharp voice echoed from the doorway.
I spun around in my chair.
Standing near the entrance, holding a dripping black umbrella, was Victoria Thorne.
She looked vastly different from the polished girl at the wedding. Her hair was pulled back into a tight pony, her makeup was stark, and her eyes carried a desperate, volatile edge.
"Victoria?" I said, standing up slowly, my hand slipping toward my phone resting on the desk. "What are you doing here?"
"My father lost his chairmanship today," Victoria said, her voice trembling with a terrifyingly quiet rage as she took three slow steps into the studio. "Because of your little stunt at the wedding, the board held an emergency meeting this morning. They ousted him. Thorne Bank is being bought out by a regional competitor."
"I'm sorry to hear that, Victoria, but that has nothing to do with me," I said calmly. "Your father chose to do business with Martha. He knew she was embezzling from Vance Global."
"He didn't know!" Victoria yelled, her composure suddenly shattering as she slammed her heavy wet umbrella against a wooden display table, shattering a glass vase. "He was trying to protect the firm! Martha promised him the Vance accounts if he helped her secure Nick for me!"
"Secure Nick?" I scoffed softly. "Nick is a human being, Victoria, not a piece of commercial real estate. He didn't want you. He never wanted you."
"He would have loved me!" Victoria shrieked, tears springing to her sharp eyes. "If you hadn't come along with your sad little Valley story! He was supposed to marry me! We were supposed to rule this town together!"
She reached into her handbag, her hand coming out with a heavy glass bottle of industrial floor stripper—a clear, corrosive chemical liquid used for dissolving paint and varnish.
My blood turned to ice.
"Do you know what this is, Nora?" Victoria whispered, a terrifying, unhinged smile spreading across her lips. "Martha thought cutting your hair was enough. But hair grows back, doesn't it? Look at you... sitting here looking like a chic little model with your sophisticated short cut. Everyone is talking about how brave you are. How pretty you are."
May you like
She unshielded the plastic cap of the chemical bottle with a sharp pop.
"Let's see how brave you look when this touches your pretty face," Victoria spat, raising the bottle high in the air and taking a violent step toward my table.
