Chapter 62: The Villian
Morning sunlight poured through the heavy velvet curtains of the Marquez estate, but it did nothing to lift the suffocating tension in the room.
Clara sat curled up on the living room chaise, scrolling viciously through her phone, teeth clenched so tightly her jaw ached. Vanessa stood across from her, pacing, her freshly manicured nails tapping against her phone screen with increasing agitation.
The media backlash had hit like a tidal wave—one neither of them had been prepared for.
"Abused daughter slapped by estranged billionaire father at charity gala."
"Clara Marquez and Vanessa Marquez remain silent after shocking gala incident—social media turns on them."
"Justice for Ella" trending worldwide.
"Idiots," Vanessa hissed under her breath, pressing her phone to her ear again, calling their PR manager for the third time in twenty minutes. Voicemail again.
"We need control of this now—why is no one picking up?"
Clara ignored her mother’s frantic pacing. She was staring at the video again, her fingers trembling. Not at the part where her father was pushed to the ground, or even where Nicholas Carter manhandled him like a rag doll.
No, her eyes were locked on Ella—standing there in that green dress, disheveled but proud, trembling but unbroken.
And then, something clicked in Clara’s brain. Her stomach twisted violently.