Chapter 4 - The Mask Slips
The VIP family waiting room on the fourth floor of St. Jude’s Hospital smelled of stale chicory coffee and synthetic lemon cleaner.
My mother, Eleanor, sat regally on a leather armchair, her silver hair coiled into a severe French twist, tapping her diamond-studded wristwatch impatiently. Aunt Vesper sat beside her, fanning herself with a glossy bridal magazine featuring Blythe’s engagement shoot on the cover.
Blythe was pacing near the window, dressed in a designer cream trench coat, her phone glued to her ear.
"I don't care if the floral arrangements haven't arrived from Amsterdam yet, you need to fix it!" Blythe snapped into the phone before aggressively hanging up. She turned her glare toward the doorway as Declan and I walked in. "Well? It's about time. How long does it take to set a child's arm? Honestly, Sloan, you always have to make a theatrical production out of everything. Cashin’s parents are hosting a rehearsal dinner on Thursday, and I cannot have you and your clumsy child looking like vagrants in our family photos."
I didn't answer immediately. I walked slowly across the linoleum floor, my heels clicking with a rhythmic, measured cadence that made Blythe pause.
Eleanor sniffed disdainfully, adjusting her silk scarf. "Look at you, Sloan. Still wearing those drab, off-the-rack cardigans. You really should have taught Mave some coordination. Running around basements like a wild animal. Honestly, if she ruins Blythe's wedding week, I will never forgive you."
"You won't have to worry about the wedding, Mother," I said softly.
Blythe let out an exasperated laugh. "Oh, stop being dramatic. What are you going to do? Cry in a corner like you always do?"
"No," I replied, stopping just a few feet away from her. I looked straight into her wide, arrogant eyes. "I'm going to destroy you."
The room went dead silent. Vesper dropped her bridal magazine. Eleanor narrowed her eyes, standing up with an offended gasp.
"Sloan! How dare you speak to your sister like that? Especially when she is under this much stress!" Eleanor scolded, stepping forward. "Apologize to Blythe right now!"
"Make me, Mother," I whispered.
Before Eleanor could retort, the heavy glass doors of the waiting room pushed open with a soft swish. Two uniformed police officers stepped inside, accompanied by a tall, sharp-looking man in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit carrying a thick leather briefcase.
It was Marcus Vance.
Blythe’s face flushed with irritation. "Excuse me, security? These people don't belong in the VIP wing. Please remove them—"
"Blythe Sinclair?" one of the police officers interrupted, stepping forward and pulling a folded document from his jacket.
Blythe blinked, her confidence faltering for the first time. "Yes? I'm Blythe Sinclair. Who are you? Do you know who my fiancé is? Cashin Montgomery—his family owns half the commercial real estate in this state—"
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"Blythe Sinclair, you are being placed under arrest for suspicion of felonious assault and child endangerment," the officer stated clearly, pulling out a pair of steel handcuffs.
The waiting room erupted into absolute chaos.
