Chapter 7 - The Shattered Banquet
The sheer kinetic force of Arthur’s shove sent Victoria hurtling backward across the slick marble floor.
Her black stiletto heels had no traction on the wet, flooded pavers.
She flailed wildly, her arms cutting through the night air as she desperately attempted to regain her center of gravity.
Behind her stood the grand banquet table, draped in immaculate white linen and loaded with celebration.
Hundreds of delicate crystal champagne flutes were arranged in a magnificent, glittering multi-tiered pyramid.
Chilled vintage magnum bottles of champagne rested in massive silver ice tubs, flanked by towering floral arrangements of white lilies and orchids.
Victoria’s lower back slammed violently into the edge of the heavy wooden banquet table.
The entire twenty-foot structure groaned under the concussive impact, shuddering violently.
The delicate balance of the crystal pyramid failed instantly in a catastrophic domino collapse.
A deafening explosion of breaking crystal shattered across the marble terrace like incoming artillery fire.
Hundreds of hand-blown champagne glasses toppled and shattered against each other and the hard stone floor.
Gallons of golden, effervescent champagne erupted into the air, raining down like a sticky, sparkling storm.
Heavy silver ice buckets overturned, dumping cascading avalanches of crushed ice and magnum bottles.
Victoria fell backward into the heart of the wreckage, her arms flailing among the falling stems and broken shards.
A magnum bottle rolled heavily across the tablecloth and smashed against the stone right beside her head.
Spilled champagne flooded the floor, mingling with the fountain water to create a wide, swirling lake of alcohol and broken glass.
Elaborate floral centerpieces snapped and scattered, white orchid petals floating in pools of golden wine.
Victoria sprawled in the center of the devastation, her luxurious crimson evening gown completely soaked in expensive champagne.
Sticky liquid dripped from her platinum-blonde hair, ruining her pristine updo and plastering strands against her face.
Her bold red lipstick was smeared across her cheek, and her diamond earrings were tangled in crushed flower stems.
The entire courtyard fell into a horrifying, breathless silence, punctuated only by the dripping of liquid and Clara’s weak coughs.
May you like
Victoria lay stunned for three full seconds, staring up at the starry night sky amidst the ruins of her vanity.
The grand hostess of the Bennett estate had been reduced to a pathetic, wine-soaked wreck on her own terrace floor.
