Chapter 7 Beginning

The night was heavy, the air in Sylvia's room still carrying the acrid echo of the afternoon's confrontation.

She had agreed to that absurd marriage, like a prisoner walking toward the gallows, accepting the sentence without appeal.

But there was still one thing left undone.

Sylvia pulled open the lowest drawer of her vanity. Inside lay a velvet jewelry box, her mother's keepsake… a pair of wedding rings.

After Imogen Fairfax passed away, Sylvia had strung the women's ring onto a necklace she wore close to her heart. The man's ring, once given to Andrew in the naive bloom of youth as a promise for their future, now felt like a bitter joke.

It was Imogen's. Sylvia would never leave it in the hands of a traitor.

She took out her phone and dialed Andrew. As expected, no answer.

Without expression, she hung up and sent a message to an old mutual friend.

Sylvia: [Where's Andrew?]

The reply came quickly: [Misty Bar. Drunk. Making a scene.]

Sylvia changed clothes, grabbed her car keys, and headed out.

House arrest? She didn't care anymore. If Gary truly dared to break her legs, she'd like to see how the Smith family felt about a crippled bride.

The Misty Bar pulsed with deafening music, lights flashing in chaotic colors.

It didn't take long to find Andrew — center booth, surrounded by two heavily made-up women, drink in hand, laughing loud and lewd, the kind of scene that made her stomach turn.

Sylvia walked straight toward him.

Her cool, cutting presence clashed with the decadent haze, drawing eyes instantly.

Andrew squinted through his drunken haze. Recognition flickered, followed by a smug smile. He waved for the women to move aside, leaned back lazily, and crooked a finger at her.

"What's this? Regret?" His voice was hoarse from drink, arrogance dripping from every syllable. "Finally realized no one but me could ever be good enough for you, Sylvia?"

He was certain she'd come to beg him back. After all, she'd loved him once.

Sylvia didn't waste a glance. "The ring."

His smile froze. "What ring?"

"My mother's ring." Her tone was flat, her gaze unyielding. "Give it back."

Andrew laughed like she'd told the funniest joke in the world. Sitting up, he sneered, "That's our token of love! You think you can take it back, cut me off, and run to some other man? Not happening."

His voice rose, fueled by alcohol and ego. "You want it? Fine."

Suddenly, he grabbed her wrist, yanking her toward him. "Beg me. Or agree to marry me right now, and I'll hand it over."

Sylvia's eyes were cold as ice. "Marry you? Andrew, you must be drunk out of your mind."

She paused, then delivered the blow with surgical precision.

"I'm marrying your uncle. Zachary."

Every trace of expression drained from Andrew's face. He looked as if she'd punched him, his grip loosening without thought.

"What… what did you say?"

"I said the Brooks family is marrying me to the head of the Smith family. Zachary." She repeated it, savoring the way shock gave way to disbelief on his face.

"Zachary? You're insane!" Andrew lurched to his feet, stumbling with the motion. "Sylvia, you'd marry a man pushing forty just to spite me?"

His first reaction was humiliation, betrayal. But then another thought crashed through.

"The shares!" His eyes went bloodshot, locking onto her. "Your mother's twenty percent in the company! You're taking those shares into a marriage with Zachary?"

He'd coveted them for years, certain that marrying Sylvia would make them his.

"You bitch!" Andrew's composure shattered. "If I can't have it, no one will! You'd rather hand those shares to another man than keep them with me?"

He lunged at her like a beast gone rabid.

Gasps rippled through the bar. No one had expected the scene to turn violent.

Sylvia was calm.

Just before his hands reached her, she sidestepped, bringing her stiletto down hard against his knee.

Andrew cried out, collapsing to one knee.

Before he could recover, Sylvia's elbow slammed into the back of his neck.

A grunt, and he pitched forward, sprawling face-first onto the floor.

It had all happened in a heartbeat.

Sylvia stood over him, gaze like a blade.

She crouched, tugging open his shirt collar — and there it was. A platinum chain, threaded with Imogen's ring.

Without hesitation, she yanked.

The chain snapped.

Sylvia closed her fist around the ring and rose to leave, but a shrill voice cut through the air behind her.

"Sylvia! What are you doing to Andrew?"

Rosa had appeared at some point, eyes blazing at the sight of her precious Andrew on the floor and Sylvia standing over him like a victor. Jealousy and rage consumed her.

She lunged, hand raised to slap Sylvia.

Sylvia's fury, simmering all day, found its outlet.

She caught Rosa's wrist mid-swing and slapped her, hard.

The sound cracked through the bar.

Rosa staggered, clutching her face, stunned.

Sylvia didn't stop. Another slap, sharper than the first.

"That's for my mother — teaching you and your whore of a mother what respect means."

She struck again, each blow leaving Rosa more disheveled, her face blooming with red marks.

"This one's for me — so you understand not every piece of trash is worth stealing."

Sylvia grabbed a fistful of Rosa's hair, forcing her to look at Andrew still groaning on the floor. "Take a good look. This is the man you stole from me — a drunken waste."

She shoved Rosa away, her smile razor-sharp.

"If you love picking up what I throw away, I'll be generous. You can have him."

Sylvia stepped back, voice low but carrying through the chaos.

"May you both rot together for the rest of your lives."

She turned to the bar. "Your strongest drink."

The bartender slid her a glass of amber whiskey.

Sylvia downed a mouthful, the burn searing her throat, bringing tears to her eyes.

She didn't finish it. Instead, she carried the half-full glass back to Rosa and Andrew.

They looked up, hate and fear mingling in their eyes.

Sylvia said nothing. She flicked her wrist, sending the whiskey splashing across their faces.

"Consider that a sobering up."

She tossed the empty glass to the floor, the sharp crack echoing.

Then, under the gaze of everyone present, she straightened her back and walked out of that foul place without looking back.

In her palm, the recovered ring lay cold against her skin… a reminder that this was only the beginning.