Chapter 7
Chapter 7
Crack.
The first blow. Her vision went black. Pain arrived without announcement.
Crack.
Second. Something warm blurred the edges of her sight.
Crack.
Third. She couldn't feel anything anymore.
The room tilted. Then the dark swallowed her whole.
…
She woke in a hospital bed again.
Alone, as usual.
Thick bandaging covered her head. More wrapped her shoulder and back. Every movement set off a grinding, deep-seated pain.
Julian probably didn't know yet — that the man he'd beaten nearly to death had turned around and taken out his rage on his wife. Or maybe he did know, and was too busy comforting a frightened Scarlett to give it any thought.
She lay staring at the ceiling for a long time, letting the exhaustion and the vast, grey emptiness seep out of her bones.
A few days later, she was well enough to go home.
She took a cab to the house. When she pushed open the front door, she found Julian waiting.
He was sitting in the living room, expression closed. When she walked in, he immediately turned on her: "Where have you been? You've been gone for days. Margaret said you never came home."
Lily didn't answer. She kicked off her shoes and started for the stairs.
"Stop." His voice followed her. "I'm talking to you."
She halted. Turned. "What is it?"
He looked irritated at her tone, but reined himself in. "Scarlett's holding her first solo sculpture exhibition today. She doesn't have many friends, and she'd like some support. She's asked you to come."
Lily found it almost funny.
"Julian, since when does a wife count as a friend to the other woman?"
His face darkened. "I've told you — we need to learn to coexist. Can't you be a little more generous?"
She looked at him, this man with his air of absolute entitlement, and felt too tired to argue. She already knew: if she refused, he'd drag her there anyway. He always did, for Scarlett's sake.
What's the point.
"Fine," she said, without inflection. "I'll come."
Julian blinked. It was clearly not the fight he'd been bracing for. But he didn't question it.
"Car's out front."
The exhibition was at a new gallery — a large, lavish affair. Press, collectors, artists. Julian had clearly spent a significant amount of money making Scarlett the centre of the evening.
Scarlett was stunning in a white gown, moving through the crowd with a practiced grace, smiling for every camera.
When she spotted Julian, her face lit up. She crossed to him immediately. "You came!" Then, perfectly timed: a small display of surprise at Lily. "Oh — and you came too! I was almost afraid you wouldn't."
Lily said, flatly: "Congratulations."
"Thank you, Lily!" Scarlett's smile sharpened with sweetness. "Come — let me show you around."
The gallery was divided into sections, each piece tagged with a steep price and an artist's statement. Wherever Scarlett went, people came forward to compliment her. Julian said little but his expression said everything — a man indulging someone he found endlessly pleasing.
Lily followed at a quiet distance, as if she were someone else's guest.
Near the centre of the gallery, Scarlett stopped and addressed the crowd.
"Now for a little highlight of the evening." She nodded to the technical team. "I've put together a video — a look back at my work from the beginning, and some thoughts on my creative process."
The lights dimmed. Music came on. Image after image scrolled — sculptures, art photographs, installation shots.
And then, near the end, the footage changed.
No more sculptures.
No more carefully curated art.
What filled the screen instead were photographs of Scarlett. Intimate photographs. Ones no one was supposed to see.
"No—"
Scarlett's scream tore the room apart. She went white as chalk.
The room erupted. Cameras flashed everywhere.
"Cut the feed — NOW!" Julian's command cracked across the room.
The technicians scrambled. The screen went dark. But not before enough had been seen.
Scarlett spun on Lily, shaking. "Lily — I've never done anything to you! Why would you do this to me?! Why?!"
Lily stared at her. "This has nothing to do with me."
"Who else would?! Who else hates me enough?!" Scarlett was past composure now, turning to hurl herself against Julian's chest, fingers clawing into his jacket. "Julian — please, do something — I'm ruined — I can't show my face—"
Julian held her. When he raised his eyes to Lily, everything warm in them was gone.
"Lily." Each syllable was deliberate, clipped. "Satisfied?"
"I'm telling you — I didn't do this."
"Who else would?!" He moved forward, something ugly in his face, the vein in his temple standing out. "I know you hate her. But this — this is vicious. I never thought you'd sink this low."
Vicious.
That word landed like a blade.
Lily stared back at him, and something behind her eyes went out.
She laughed — a faint, wet, terrible sound, eyes burning but refusing to spill over.
"So that's what I am to you now? Vicious?"
Julian said nothing. But she read the answer clearly enough.
"Fine," she said, the smile twisting into something worse than tears. "So what now? Call the police? Lock me up to teach me a lesson?"
His face was rigid. His voice dropped dangerously. "People who do wrong should face consequences." He turned to his assistant and spoke quietly, the words landing like ice: "Find intimate photographs of Lily. Print them. I want every street in this city covered. Whatever she put Scarlett through — she'll pay back a hundred times over."