Chapter 4 - Dragged onto the Marble
Elena fought the heavy drag of the water with every step, her jaw set in grim determination.
Clara’s trembling body felt like lead, her soaked satin dress dripping cascades back into the fountain basin.
Elena reached the submerged marble steps and hoisted Clara upward with careful, measured strength.
Clara’s silver high heels dragged uselessly against the stone, her knees buckling the moment she cleared the water.
Elena wrapped her right arm securely around Clara’s waist, taking the full brunt of the girl’s weight onto her own shoulder.
Together, they stumbled over the raised marble threshold and collapsed onto the dry courtyard flagstones.
Streams of fountain water immediately fanned out across the pristine terrace, pooling beneath their sodden clothes.
Clara dropped to her hands and knees, shivering uncontrollably, her chest heaving with deep, racking coughs.
Her delicate facial features were pale as chalk, her hazel eyes glazed with lingering shock and terror.
Her chestnut hair hung in dripping, matted strands across her bare, bruised shoulders.
Elena knelt immediately beside her on the wet stone, rubbing Clara’s back with firm, reassuring strokes.
"Breathe, Miss Clara, just breathe," Elena whispered fiercely, ignoring the water pooling around her own knees.
Water dripped from Elena’s chin and eyelashes, but her eyes scanned the immediate perimeter like a hawk.
She knew that the predator who pushed the girl was standing barely five paces away.
Across the wide courtyard patio, the massive glass doors had just swung open with concussive force.
Arthur Bennett, forty-eight-year-old billionaire patriarch, stepped into the golden glow of the garden lights.
His tall, muscular frame was clad in an impeccable tailored black tuxedo that accentuated his broad, powerful shoulders.
He had stepped outside to address his guests, but the scene before him made the blood freeze in his veins.
His piercing gray eyes took in the flooded terrace, the kneeling maid, and his biological daughter trembling on the stones.
His sharp jaw clenched so violently that the muscles twitched beneath his light evening stubble.
The air in the courtyard plummeted into a suffocating, electrical silence as Arthur’s eyes locked onto Clara.
His daughter was soaked to the skin, coughing up water, looking as fragile as broken porcelain.
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Beside the fountain stood Victoria, her crimson gown stark against the stone, her face still twisted in psychotic rage.
A primal, paternal fury awoke inside Arthur’s chest, dark and terrifyingly absolute.
