Chapter 7 - The Unmasking
A confused murmur spread across the ballroom.
"What is this?" Senator Davenport muttered, leaning forward. "Is this part of the tribute?"
On stage, Victoria’s polite smile froze. Her eyes widened in shock as she stared at the giant screen. "What... turn that off! Technician! Cut the feed!"
Nobody cut the feed.
Mateo had physically barred the door of the AV control booth, locking out the panicked event staff.
On the massive screens, the audio came alive with terrifying clarity. Victoria’s voice echoed through the high-ceilinged ballroom, amplified by thirty thousand watts of pristine audio:
*"You look exhausted, darling..."*
On screen, four hundred high-society guests watched as Victoria stroked Clara’s hair with sickening sweetness.
*"A Sterling heir demands vitality. Strength. Pedigree. But look at you... so frail. So utterly common."*
The collective gasp that tore through the ballroom was deafening.
"Turn it off!" Victoria screamed, abandoning all composure. She lunged toward the podium edge, waving frantically at the sound booth. "SECURITY! CUT THE POWER! SHUT IT DOWN NOW!"
No one moved. The security guards—all loyal to Julian and Mateo—stood like statues along the walls.
On the screen, the nightmare unfolded.
The camera captured every brutal detail: Victoria’s hand twisting into Clara’s scalp. The sudden, violent jerk. The sickening tearing sound that blasted through the ballroom speakers, followed by Clara’s blood-curdling scream of pure agony.
Women in the audience screamed, dropping their champagne flutes. Glasses shattered on the parquet floor. Several board members jumped out of their seats, staring in sheer horror.
On screen, Clara was weeping, begging for mercy: *"Victoria! Please! Stop!"*
And then came the line that chilled the blood of every billionaire, politician, and socialite in the room.
Victoria’s face, contorted like a rabid animal, shoving the bloody clump of hair into the pregnant woman's mouth:
*"SWALLOW IT, YOU WORTHLESS GIRL! Swallow every single strand! You thought my son’s ring made you equal to us? You are an incubator! Nothing more!"*
"Dear God..." Eleanor Sterling gasped, clutching her chest, her face pale as a ghost. "Victoria... what did you do?"
The video didn't stop.
Julian burst into the room. He shoved Victoria away. Victoria recovered, stepped forward, and delivered the monstrous, echoing slap across Julian’s face.
Then came Julian’s voice from the video, cold and prophetic: *"Get out of our quarters before I have security drag you down the front steps."*
And Victoria’s sneering, arrogant reply: *"Security? Every man on this property is paid by Sterling Consolidated, which means they answer to me."*
*CLICK.*
The video cut out.
The ballroom screens flashed bright red, displaying a new document: a high-resolution forensic toxicology report, followed by intercepted text messages between Victoria Sterling and Dr. Arthur Sterling.
The texts were displayed in letters four feet tall:
**[Victoria]:** *Double the ergotamine dosage in her 30-week batch. I want the labor triggered before the quarterly board audit. She cannot be conscious when the child is born.*
**[Arthur]:** *Victoria, this could cause complete placental detachment. It could kill her.*
**[Victoria]:** *The child is all that matters for the trust. The mother is entirely disposable.*
May you like
Total pandemonium erupted.
***
