Chapter 9 - The Final Illusion
Since bargaining was useless, Lucinda resorted to the only weapon she had left: pure, unfiltered spite. She stood up from her knees, brushing the dust from her slacks. The pathetic, weeping woman vanished, replaced by the cornered viper. She glared at Damian, her chest heaving, a twisted, bitter smile touching her lips.
So what are you going to do? she challenged, her voice echoing in the quiet library. Shoot me here on the Persian rug? Roll me up in a carpet and dump me in the river? Do it. But know that you will be sleeping alone in this massive, empty mausoleum. You will never find a woman who can stand to look at the monster you really are. You need my glamour. You need my face to hide the blood on your hands from the civilized world.
Damian let out a low, genuine chuckle. The sound was deeply unsettling. He stood up, towering over her, buttoning his suit jacket. I don't hide, Lucinda. I rule. And I certainly don't need a cheap imitation of a queen to sit beside me.
He walked past her, opening the library doors fully. Two massive men in dark suits stepped into the room. They didn't draw weapons, but their intent was clear. They moved with silent, brutal efficiency. One of them grabbed Lucinda by the arm, his grip just as unyielding as Damian's had been earlier.
Get your hands off me! she shrieked, struggling violently against the guard's iron hold. I want my things! My jewelry, my clothes, my passport! I am not leaving empty-handed!
Damian paused in the doorway, looking back over his shoulder. The jewelry belongs to the estate. The clothes were bought with my money. The passport has already been fed to the incinerator. You arrived in this city with nothing, Lucinda. And that is exactly how you will leave it.
May you like
The guards dragged her out of the library, down the long hallway, and out the heavy oak front doors. The crisp autumn air hit her face like a physical blow. They marched her down the sweeping stone steps, her frantic screams echoing into the night, ignored by the silent trees and the empty driveway. When they reached the heavy iron gates at the edge of the property, they finally let her go, pushing her roughly onto the cold asphalt of the public street.
The massive iron gates clanged shut behind her with a dreadful finality. The electronic lock engaged with a loud beep. Lucinda stumbled to her feet, shivering in the cold night air, staring through the iron bars at the sprawling, brilliantly lit mansion that was supposed to be hers. She had no money, no phone, no identity, and no powerful friends. She was a ghost standing on the outside of the world she had tried to steal.
