Jilted Heiress: Her Reign Has Begun

Etta Stark POV:

Fremont held Corina behind him, a human shield against my grief. As I lunged, a wild, cornered animal, Corina did something grotesquely brilliant. In the chaos of the moment, she twisted, scraping her own arm hard against the jagged edge of a broken table.

A thin line of red appeared on her skin.

"Etta, you cut me!" she shrieked, her voice a pitch-perfect symphony of terror and pain. She stumbled back, cradling her arm, her eyes wide with fake horror.

Fremont' s head snapped toward her. He saw the blood. His face, which had been a mask of irritation, transformed into a canvas of pure fury.

"You crazy bitch," he spat at me, his voice low and dangerous.

He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small, sleek pocketknife. The blade clicked open, gleaming under the dim light.

"You want to hurt people, Etta?" he sneered, advancing on me. "Let' s see how you like it."

He grabbed my left hand, the uninjured one. I tried to pull back, but his grip was like iron. He was not the boy who protected me from dogs anymore. He was a monster.

He pressed the tip of the blade into the back of my hand.

The pain was clean, sharp, and absolute. It stole the air from my lungs. I watched, disembodied, as the knife sank into my flesh, a bright red blossom of blood blooming around the steel.

I couldn't even scream. A strangled gasp was all that escaped. The room swam, dark spots dancing at the edges of my vision.

"You think you' re so important, don' t you?" he hissed, his face inches from mine. "You think this marriage contract makes you untouchable?" He twisted the knife slightly, and a wave of nausea washed over me.

"The engagement is off," he declared, his voice cold and final. "I' m done with you. You are not fit to be a Warren. You are not fit to be my wife."

He pulled the knife out and let go of my hand. I staggered back, clutching the wound, blood pouring between my fingers.

"Guards!" he bellowed. Two of his personal security men appeared at the doorway.

"Lock her in here," Fremont commanded, his voice ringing with absolute authority. "She is not to leave this room. And she is to receive no medical attention."

He looked at my bleeding hand with utter contempt. "She can come out when she' s ready to get on her knees and apologize to Corina."

He then turned to Corina, his entire demeanor changing in an instant. He scooped her up into his arms, cradling her as if she were made of glass. "It' s okay, baby," he murmured, kissing her forehead. "I' ve got you. From now on, you are the lady of this house."

He carried her out of the room, leaving me in the ruins of my parents' memory. The last thing I saw before the darkness claimed me was my blood, dripping onto the shattered glass of my parents' wedding photo, staining their happy faces red.

An entire month passed. I was a prisoner in my own home, confined to the desecrated penthouse. Maria, loyal Maria, risked her job to sneak me bandages and antiseptic, her eyes filled with pity and rage.

From my high window, I could see the city. And the city could see Fremont. He was everywhere. He showered Corina with lavish gifts-cars, jewels, a new apartment. He took her to every high-profile event, his hand always possessively on her pregnant belly. Their faces were plastered on every screen, every magazine cover.

Then came the announcement. Fremont Warren and Corina Gonzales, Engaged to be Wed. Their engagement photo, a sickeningly sweet portrait of him kissing her cheek, was displayed on the massive digital billboards in Times Square, playing on a loop. A public declaration of my replacement.

One day, they came to visit me in my prison. Fremont stood in the doorway, looking smug and powerful. Corina clung to his arm, her diamond engagement ring catching the light.

"Have you had enough, Etta?" Fremont asked, a cruel smile on his face. "Are you ready to apologize now?"

I just stared at him, my silence a wall he could not breach.

His smile faltered. "Fine," he snapped. "If you won' t bend, you' ll break. On the day of the shareholder meeting, I will have you publicly disowned. And all this junk," he said, kicking at one of my father' s books, "will be thrown in the trash where it belongs."

He turned to leave, pulling Corina with him. As they walked away, I heard him give one last order to the guards at my door.

"Tomorrow is the meeting. Drag her there if you have to. I want everyone to see her when I cast her out."

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