The Jilted Heiress In Blood Red

The wind on the balcony was freezing, turning Harlene's fingers to ice, but her blood felt like it was boiling.

She looked through the glass doors. Dennis was standing in the corner, holding Jailyn's hands, gently wiping away her tears. The gesture was tender.

It was the same gesture he had used three years ago, at his first campaign gala. Harlene had been overwhelmed by the crowd, a panic attack rising in her chest. Dennis had held her hands, wiped her tears, and promised to protect her from her family.

The memory shattered. It was replaced by the image from six months ago, at the press conference where she was accused of abusing prescription drugs.

She had looked to Dennis for support, for a lifeline. He had turned his head away. The disgust in his profile had cut deeper than any accusation.

Back in the present, Harlene saw Dennis walking toward the balcony doors. He wanted to finish this.

He stood on the other side of the glass, his mouth moving as he warned her to stay away from Jailyn. There was no sound, just the furious movement of his lips. It looked like a bad mime act.

Harlene pushed the door open. The wind howled into the room, blowing her hair into a wild mess around her face.

Dennis frowned, reaching out to fix her hair. "You look like a lunatic. Fix yourself."

Harlene didn't move. She just stared at him. The anger in her eyes faded, replaced by a terrifying stillness.

"Do you remember," she asked, her voice hollow, "the panic attacks I got from covering up your scandals?"

Dennis looked away, shifting his weight. "That was your own mental instability. You can't blame me for that."

The words severed the last thread holding Harlene back. The final cord of affection snapped with an audible snap in her mind.

She smiled. It was a smile of pure, unadulterated relief. The burden of loving him was gone.

Dennis took a step back, unnerved by the look on her face. "What? Why are you smiling?"

Harlene walked toward him. Each step was deliberate, crushing the ghost of the man she thought he was.

She reached out her hand. Dennis flinched, raising his arms to block a hit.

But Harlene simply slid the diamond ring off her finger. The stone was cold and heavy.

She grabbed the lapel of his jacket and shoved the ring into his front pocket. She patted his chest twice, the gesture utterly patronizing.

"Keep it for your next wife," she said, her voice clear and sharp. "Let's hope she's easier to break."

Dennis's jaw dropped. He tried to speak, but no sound came out.

Harlene turned her back on him. She walked into the ballroom, her posture straight, her head high.

A waltz began to play. Harlene walked straight to the center of the dance floor.

She began to dance. Alone. She spun, her red dress flaring out around her like a flame. She was fire, and the fire was burning everything down.

The guests scattered, clearing a wide circle around her, terrified of getting burned.

As she spun, she saw Estella walking toward the stage, the spotlight hitting her.

Harlene stopped dancing. She smoothed down her skirt, adjusting her armor. Then she walked directly toward the bright, shining stage.