Chapter 5: The Reckoning

Three days of torment had passed, and still she strangled herself. David's remorseful visage and the faint trace of Jane's hand behind her closed eyes had been preceded by three relentless evenings of ceiling‑staring. Sleep eluded her; she had hardly eaten, stewing in a fuming blend of humiliation and agony.

Her phone buzzed—*Gift*. Emily's thumb hovered near the screen.

*Not once more. Especially not—*

"Em, he's at it *again*," Gift panted through the call. "Cincinnida—one. Right now. Some networking fraud. She's available—half of those invited from that stupid city, all except you."

Emily felt her fingertips dig into her palm.

*I shall gut him.*

"Wait—maybe don't," she murmured, though her decision was already made. She was tugging on a leather jacket that reeked of old cigarettes and need. In the hallway mirror, her reflection looked like a pale, hollow ghost. Not tonight.

When Emily parked abruptly, the car door banged like a gunshot. The Grandview valet stared in disbelief as bass-heavy music and clattering glasses filled the lobby. Charging into the ballroom, she encountered only a contingent of beefy security. One guard grunted dismissively—"Invite only."

"That's my *husband's* circus!" she snarled, though exemptions were clearly not on the menu.

A rough voice then cut through the chaos.

"Emily? Hell's bells, what's this?"

Uncle Marcus—her father's whiskey‑soaked ex‑partner—squinted at the disorder. He jabbed a finger at the guard before she could speak.

"That's David Maddison's *wife*. Let her pass, or I'll call your boss."

The guard mumbled and moved aside.

Inside, the ballroom sparkled like a snake pit of smarmy smiles and sequins. Jane hovered like a vulture in blood‑red satin, while David held court, his mother's claw firmly on his arm.

"Three days!" David bellowed, and the room fell silent. In that moment, his champagne flute slipped from his grasp, shattering on the floor.

Emily spat and pointed a finger at Jane.

"Three days since I caught you balls‑deep in this *homewrecker*, and here you are, parading as Mommy Dearest?"

Mrs. Maddison's ceramic face seemed to crack under the weight of the accusation.

Jane slid forward, a smile as sharp as cutlery on her lips.

"Still stalking me? That slap didn't teach you shit, did it?"

Emily laughed bitterly.

"Guess I didn't swing hard enough."

Jane purred, rolling her shoulders.

"Try it."

Before Emily could finish her retort, she staggered. Jane lunged, seizing a wine glass as security surged forward, the crowd murmuring in consternation.

David's voice rang out, desperate:

"*Stop!*"

Jane hurled the glass. Emily ducked as it burst against the wall, shards raining down like daggers. Underfoot, Mrs. Maddison's heel slipped, and Emily's knee screamed in protest. Jane towered over her, stiletto raised.

"How's this for—"

Jane swung hard and grabbed Emily's ankle. A scream tore from her lips as they tumbled into a tangle of limbs and snarls. With a sudden, brutal crack, Emily's fist met Jane's jaw—a *pop* that echoed in the chaos.

"Get *OFF*!" Emily roared, writhing as her breath came in ragged gasps.

One of Jane's eyes darkened instantly as she cradled her inflamed cheek.

"Psycho bitch!"

David stood frozen, his mother's nails digging into his sleeve. Emily broke free from the guards, locking eyes with her husband.

"Tell your audience *circus*," she spat.

She stormed out, the crowd peeling away like bugs fleeing light as whispers exploded behind her—*divorce, scandal, lawsuit*.

Outside, the evening air reeked of pennies and cheap success. With aching knuckles, she slammed her car back home, Jane's broken grin seared into her memory. Let the buzzards gossip. Let David's kingdom fall.

But as she collapsed onto her sofa, the emptiness roared around her, as vast as it was ravenous. Now what? The question crawled within her, paler yet more insatiable. Yet tonight, she had drawn blood.