Chapter 4 - The Gravity of Retribution
The blonde woman slowly pushed herself off the table.
Her palms left sticky, pink handprints on the marble edge.
Thick clumps of frosting slid down her forehead, dripping onto her eyelashes.
She didn't blink.
She reached up, slowly wiping the cream from her vision.
Her face was utterly still.
No tears. No flushed cheeks.
Just a dead, calculating stare.
The man in the navy suit smirked, opening his mouth to speak.
He never got the first syllable out.
Her right arm whipped through the air.
The movement was a blur of cream fabric and pure kinetic energy.
Her open palm connected with his cheekbone.
The crack sounded like a dry branch snapping in half.
His head violently snapped to the side.
Spit and blood flew from his mouth, catching the golden light.
His feet lifted off the floor.
He sailed backward, arms flailing wildly.
His spine collided with the decorative wall.
Framed portraits shattered instantly.
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Glass rained down onto his shoulders as he collapsed into a heap on the floor.
The vanity lights flickered above his slumping body.
