The shopping trip with Sophie had been a welcome respite. For a few hours, surrounded by bright colors and soft fabrics, Elara could almost pretend she was a normal young woman with a normal friend. They'd laughed over ridiculous accessories and Sophie had coaxed her into trying on a daring crimson dress. The weight of the Thorne shares and Cassian's confounding behavior had momentarily faded.
But the illusion shattered the moment they stepped into the elegant, marble-floored central courtyard of the luxury mall for a coffee.
It was there they found the venomous couple. Aris and Lena were perched on a plush velvet bench nearby, conspicuously loud.
"Some people have no shame," Lena's voice carried, shrill and sweetly poisonous. "No class. They just cling to the nearest powerful man, a leech in a designer dress."
"It's pathetic," Aris chimed in, not even glancing their way, his voice a contemptuous drawl. "Thinking a piece of paper and a few stolen stocks makes them royalty. They're just trash who got lucky."
Sophie froze, her face flushing a deep, angry red. She made to move towards them, her fists clenched, but Elara's hand shot out, gripping her wrist firmly.
"Don't," Elara said, her voice low and steady, though a cold fury was building inside her. "It's useless to reason with mad dogs on the street. They're not worth your energy, Sophie. Ignore them."
Sophie, visibly trembling with outrage, respected Elara enough to hesitate. She took a deep breath, trying to focus on the menu in her hands. But the mockery only intensified.
"I heard she's even turning his allies against the family," Lena sneered, a little louder. "Poisoning everything she touches. A real black widow."
"And look, she's even found herself a little lapdog," Aris added, finally casting a dismissive glance at Sophie. "The Prescott girl. Guess weak-minded fools flock together."
That was the final straw for Sophie. The insult to Elara was one thing, but this direct attack broke her composure. She was her father's pampered, soft-hearted daughter, and she had her limits. With a cry of outrage, she slammed the menu down on the table, the sound echoing in the courtyard.
"How dare you!" Sophie shouted, marching over to them. "You vile, disgusting people! How dare you speak about her like that!"
Lena looked up, feigning surprise. "Oh, we're sorry, did we hurt your feelings? We were just having a private conversation."
"There's nothing private about your filth!" Sophie retorted, her voice shaking. "You're nothing but jealous, bitter cowards!"
Aris stood up, looming over her. "Watch your mouth, you little brat. This is none of your business. Run back to your daddy before you get hurt."
"Or what?" Sophie challenged, tears of frustration now welling in her eyes. "You'll insult me too? You're a bully, Aris! A pathetic, small-minded bully!"
The public argument was drawing stares. Lena stood up, putting a hand on Aris's arm, her voice a mocking simper. "Aris, darling, don't. She's just a child. She doesn't know any better. She's clearly been… influenced by bad company."
The condescension, the direct attack on her friendship with Elara, was too much. A tear escaped and traced a path down Sophie's cheek. Seeing her cry seemed to inflame Aris's rage even further. His face, already contorted with anger, turned a mottled red. He was humiliated, cornered, and he needed a target.
His furious gaze swept from the crying Sophie to Elara, who had now stood up, her own expression glacial. All his pent-up fury—for his lost inheritance, his public humiliations, his failing ventures—coalesced into a white-hot hatred for the woman he saw as the cause of it all.
"This is all your fault!" he roared at Elara, completely unhinged. He took a threatening step towards Sophie, his hand rising, fingers curling back, ready to deliver a stinging slap to the crying girl for her association with his enemy. "You and your little—"
Crack!
The sound was sharp, crisp, and shocking, cutting through the tense air of the courtyard. It wasn't the sound of a hand meeting a soft cheek.
It was the sound of a powerful, open-handed slap landing with brutal force on a man's face.
Aris staggered, a grunt of pure agony and surprise forced from his lips. His legs buckled, and he crashed to the polished marble floor, clutching his already-swelling cheek, moaning in pain.
The entire courtyard fell into a dead, stunned silence.
Standing over him, her chest heaving not with panic, but with cold, righteous fury, her own palm stinging from the impact, was not a security guard, and not Cassian.
It was Elara.
Her grey eyes blazed like a stormy sea, her entire body radiating a protective, terrifying power. She looked down at the man groaning at her feet, her voice cutting through the silence, low and deadly.
"You will never," she hissed, every word dripping with venom, "raise your hand to my friend again."
Aris lay on the cold marble, the world a dizzying blur of pain and shock. The stinging fire on his cheek was nothing compared to the sheer, primal terror that seized him as he looked up at Elara.
This wasn't the quiet, overlooked woman he had discarded. This wasn't even the composed, strategic wife of his uncle. The woman standing over him was something else entirely.
Her face was a mask of chilling calm, her eyes holding a storm of such ferocious intensity that it felt like a physical weight crushing his chest. He had never seen a gaze so devoid of emotion yet so full of promised violence. She looked like a field commander about to execute a traitor, her authority absolute, her resolve unshakable. The thought that this terrifying presence had been hidden beneath a veneer of quiet submission all along made his blood run cold.
The spell of silence was broken by the sound of dozens of smartphone cameras clicking and recording. A wave of murmurs swept through the crowd, no longer just curious, but openly hostile towards the man on the floor.
"Did you see that? He tried to hit that girl!"
"He was screaming the most vile things!"
"That's Aris Thorne!What a disgrace!"
"Elara Thorne just defended her friend!That was incredible!"
Security guards finally arrived, but their intervention was almost an afterthought. The court of public opinion had already convened, tried, and convicted Aris on the spot.
Lena, pale and shaking, tried to help a dazed Aris to his feet, but he shoved her away, his ego too shattered to accept help. They slunk away through a gauntlet of scornful glances and raised phones, their humiliation being broadcast to the world in real-time.
Sophie, tears still on her cheeks but now mixed with awe, rushed to Elara's side. "Elara! Your hand!"
Elara flexed her stinging fingers, the adrenaline slowly receding. "It's fine," she said, her voice returning to its usual steady tone, though a new, unshakable confidence underpinned it.
The scene was chaos, but it was a chaos that had definitively chosen its side.
---
Word traveled faster than light in their world. By the time Elara and a still-shaken Sophie were escorted home, videos of the confrontation were already trending. The edited clips were damning: Aris's vulgar insults, his towering rage, his hand raised against a crying Sophie, and finally, Elara's swift, powerful slap that sent him to the ground. The narrative was clear: the jilted groom was an unhinged bully, and the new Mrs. Thorne was a protector, a queen defending her court.
Cassian learned of it not through a phone call, but through a financial news alert that had, bizarrely, picked up the viral story. He watched the clip on his tablet, his expression unreadable. He saw Aris's rage, Sophie's tears, and then... Elara. The ferocity in her eyes, the flawless, devastating execution of the slap. A part of him, the part that valued control and order, noted the public relations triumph.
But a deeper, more primal part felt a jolt of something fierce and proud. He had known she had steel in her, but he had never seen it unleashed like this.
Sophie's father, a powerful ally in his own right, was incensed. His daughter, his precious, soft-hearted girl, had been publicly threatened and reduced to tears. He didn't need to make a scene; he made calls. By evening, several of Aris's remaining, shaky business connections had mysteriously evaporated, and a formal complaint had been lodged with the country club both families frequented, demanding Aris's expulsion.
---
That evening, dinner at The Mention was a quiet affair. Elara expected... something. A debriefing, perhaps. A analysis of the strategic victory. But Cassian was unusually quiet, methodically working through his meal.
Finally, he set his fork down and looked at her, his dark eyes serious.
"I have to say, Elara," he began, his tone measured. "I'm a bit disappointed."
Elara's heart sank unexpectedly. Had she been too rash? Had her loss of control damaged his plans? "Disappointed?" she asked, her voice careful.
"Yes," he sighed, leaning back in his chair. "I am your husband. The one person who is supposed to witness your most... formidable moments. And yet, I had to see my own wife deliver what the internet is calling 'The Slap That Was Heard Around High Society' on a tiny phone screen. I'm disappointed I wasn't there to see the look on my nephew's face firsthand. I'm sure it was a masterpiece."
The relief that washed over her was so potent it was almost dizzying. He wasn't angry. He was... teasing her. In his own bizarre, Cassian Thorne way.
A slow smile touched her lips as she remembered their conversation in the hallway just that morning. She met his gaze, her eyes sparkling with a newfound playfulness.
"Well," she said, her voice sweet but laced with a subtle threat. "You can still witness it. I can punch you if you want." She even gave him a bright, innocent smile, miming a little punch in the air. 😊🔪
Cassian's composure broke. The playful glint in his eyes vanished, replaced by genuine, wide-eyed alarm. He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender.
"N-no thanks," he stammered, suddenly pushing his chair back from the table. "I... I just remembered. Paperwork. A lot of... urgent paperwork." He stood up abruptly, retreating from the dining room with a speed she had never seen from him. "Good night!"
Elara couldn't hold it in any longer. A full, rich laugh escaped her, echoing in the vast room. "Come on, I'm joking, Cassian!" she called out to his rapidly retreating back.
But he was already gone, having fled the battlefield where, for the first time, he had been the one thoroughly and completely disarmed. Elara sat back in her chair, the sound of her own laughter a sweet and unfamiliar music in the silent penthouse.
The sword at her neck was gone. In its place, she realized, was a shield she had forged herself, and a partnership that was becoming far more interesting than any business arrangement.