Chapter 5 - The Crimson Stumble
Victoria stood frozen beside a cluster of white cushioned lounge chairs, her jaw hanging slack as she watched her husband flounder in fruit and broken porcelain.
The platinum-blonde woman’s initial shock rapidly transmuted into an uncontrollable wave of hysterical, narcissistic fury.
"You crazy old bitch!" Victoria shrieked, completely dropping her polished socialite persona.
Driven by blind rage, Victoria lunged across the slick marble floor toward Eleanor, her black high heels clicking frantically against the stone.
Her crimson evening dress pulled tight against her hips as she closed the distance, her right arm cocked high above her shoulder.
Victoria swung her open palm with all the vicious momentum she could muster, aiming straight for Eleanor’s face to avenge Julian’s public humiliation.
Eleanor’s eyes tracked the incoming strike with the calm detachment of a seasoned martial artist.
She did not flinch, nor did she retreat a single millimeter from the attacking woman.
At the exact moment Victoria’s hand swung forward, Eleanor tilted her head slightly to the left, letting the whistling palm slice through empty air.
Before Victoria could recover her balance, Eleanor’s right hand shot out like a steel vice.
Eleanor clamped her fingers firmly around Victoria’s slender right wrist, arresting all forward momentum with bone-jarring firmness.
Victoria gasped in sudden pain, her eyes widening as she realized she was completely immobilized.
Eleanor did not strike her daughter-in-law; she maintained strict, unyielding physical discipline.
With a single, forceful pivot of her hips, Eleanor drove her palms into Victoria’s shoulders and delivered a powerful, dismissive shove.
The momentum sent Victoria stumbling sideways across the patio floor, her sharp heels skidding helplessly over the slick marble surface.
Victoria’s legs tangled with the wooden base of an expansive, white-cushioned outdoor lounge chair.
She lost all control of her center of gravity and tumbled backward into the furniture with an undignified yelp.
The lounger skidded three feet across the stone patio with a screech, tipping onto two legs before slamming back down with Victoria splayed across its cushions.
Her platinum-blonde hair fell out of its pristine updo, spilling wildly across her face in messy, tangled strands.
Her expensive gold bracelet scraped against the armrest, and her black heels kicked uselessly in the air as she tried to scramble upright.
Eleanor stood between the fallen woman and the locked storage door, her emerald-green dress untouched by the chaos.
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She did not offer Victoria a single word of rebuke.
Her cold, piercing blue glare pinned the younger woman to the cushions with absolute, unmistakable authority.
