Rising From Hell: The Vengeful Heiress Returns

Elba stumbled backward. Her heel caught on the edge of the thick rug. Alex lunged forward and caught the First Lady by the elbow before she could fall.

Elba took a deep, shuddering breath. She forced her spine straight, her face draining of all color.

"Hester," Elba said, her voice deadly serious. "Accusing the President's son of attempted murder is a catastrophic charge. You must tell me exactly what happened. Every word."

Hester's body began to shake violently. She wrapped her arms around her own torso, hugging herself tight, ensuring the bloody scrape on her shoulder was in full view.

She opened her mouth, letting her voice crack and break as she spun the web.

"He... he tricked me into going to the sitting room," Hester stammered, tears spilling over her cheeks. "Tricia was there. They had a thick manila folder. An annulment agreement. He had a gold fountain pen... he tried to force me to sign it."

Elba's eyes narrowed. The specific details—the folder, the pen—gave the story terrifying credibility.

"I refused," Hester cried, her chest heaving. "I told him I couldn't betray our family's alliance. He got so angry. He said I was ruining his life with Tricia. He chased me out to the South Lawn."

Hester stuck her leg out slightly, showing the angry red scrape on her ankle from where she had kicked Domenic. She turned her wrists over, exposing the brutal, red fingernail marks she had dug into her own skin.

"He grabbed me by the pool," she gasped, pressing a hand to her chest as if she couldn't breathe. "He said if I didn't break the engagement, he would drown me and make it look like an accident."

The word accident hit Elba like a physical strike. The political implications of a staged death made the First Lady's blood run cold.

"We struggled," Hester continued, her voice dropping to a terrified whisper. "He slipped on the ice. He fell in, but he grabbed my arm! He tried to drag me down with him! I had to fight him off. I lost my shoes..."

She buried her face in her hands. "Nora came running. I told her to help him, and I just ran. I was so scared..."

It was a flawless narrative. She was the perfect, loyal victim who had nearly died protecting the family's honor.

Elba's hands curled into tight fists. She slammed her palm down on the small side table. The delicate bone china teacup shattered into pieces.

"Alex," Elba snarled, her eyes burning with lethal fury. "Send the Secret Service to the South Pool. Drag that animal back here immediately."

Alex nodded sharply, speaking rapidly into her encrypted radio. "And I'm calling the White House physician. She needs to be examined."

While they waited, Elba went to the bathroom and brought back a warm, damp towel. Her hands, usually so steady, trembled as she gently wiped the dirt and tears from Hester's face.

Hester leaned into the touch, closing her eyes like a frightened child. But beneath her lowered lashes, her gaze darted toward the heavy oak doors, waiting for the trap to spring.

The private physician arrived minutes later. Under Elba's hawkish supervision, the doctor examined Hester's shoulder, wrists, and ankle, taking high-resolution photographs of every mark.

The doctor packed up his kit, his face grim. He looked directly at the First Lady.

"Ma'am, these contusions and abrasions are entirely consistent with a violent struggle and forceful grabbing," the doctor confirmed.

That medical validation shattered the last ounce of Elba's maternal denial. Her disappointment in her son instantly mutated into a raging inferno.

Suddenly, a loud, chaotic commotion erupted in the hallway outside. Men were shouting. Someone was cursing loudly.

The heavy doors were shoved open with brutal force.

Domenic was dragged into the room by two massive Secret Service agents, each gripping one of his arms in an iron lock. He was soaking wet, wrapped in a silver thermal blanket that had slipped down around his shoulders, shivering violently. He looked like a drowned rat.

His hair was plastered to his skull, dripping dirty pool water onto the pristine carpet. His lips were blue, but his eyes were bloodshot and completely deranged.

The agents halted three paces inside the door, holding Domenic firmly in place. The second Domenic saw Hester sitting on the sofa, he snapped.

"You!" he roared, his voice a hoarse, grating screech, straining uselessly against the agents' unyielding grips. "It was her! She kicked me into the water! She's a psycho!"

Hester let out a piercing shriek. She scrambled backward on the sofa, curling into a tight ball behind Elba's back, throwing her hands over her head as if expecting to be struck.

Elba watched her son. He showed zero remorse. He had been dragged into her private quarters, screaming like a lunatic, and tried to blame the bruised, bleeding girl cowering behind her.

Elba stood up. She stepped directly into Domenic's path, blocking his view of Hester. Her face was carved from stone.

Domenic was too consumed by rage to notice the lethal danger radiating from his mother. He thrashed against the agents, trying to lunge past her, his bound arms jerking uselessly toward Hester.

"I'm going to kill you, you lying bitch!" Domenic screamed.

The lead agent tightened his grip and forced Domenic's shoulders down, immobilizing him. He turned to Elba, his expression professionally blank. "Ma'am. The assistant Nora was also recovered from the pool. She was unresponsive at the scene. The medics have transported her to the hospital. Her status is critical."

Elba's jaw tightened. She gave a single, sharp nod. Then her gaze returned to her son, and her voice dropped to a tone of absolute, irreversible finality.

"Get him out of my sight."