Chapter 8 - THE ARREST IN THE MANSION
Two massive security guards grabbed Elena by her arms, slamming her designer crimson gown against the cold marble floor.
"Let me go, you pathetic brutes! I am the mistress of this house!" Elena roared, thrashing wildly against their grip.
Marcus watched her with utter disgust, signaling his head of security to step forward with steel zip-ties.
"Lock her in the reinforced panic room in the basement until federal marshals arrive," Marcus ordered coldly.
"You can't do this to me, Marcus! You'll regret this! You'll die in that wheelchair anyway!" Elena shrieked as she was dragged away.
Her muffled screams faded down the marble corridor, leaving an eerie, heavy silence in the grand hall once more.
Marcus turned his wheelchair back toward Clara, who stood unbothered amidst the wreckage of his marriage.
"You mentioned my legs aren't truly dead," Marcus said, his voice carrying a fragile, desperate spark of hope.
Clara walked slowly toward him, her tattered boots clicking softly against the floor. "The neurotoxin blocked your spinal receptors."
She reached into her duffel bag, pulling out a small leather pouch filled with small, weathered silver needles.
May you like
"With the right antidote and ten days of proper cleansing, you'll stand on your own two feet again," Clara whispered.
***
