Phoebe’s reflexes were lightning-fast. As Vanessa lunged to jab the jagged bottle at her face, Phoebe had already seized her wrist. “Vanessa, have you lost your mind?” Phoebe shouted, drenched in a cold sweat from the close call.

“Yes, I’ve gone mad!” Vanessa hissed, her eyes seething with hatred. “The thought of you carrying his child drives me to insanity.”

Gritting her teeth, Phoebe fought for control of the bottle, desperate to disarm Vanessa and snap her out of this frenzy with a sharp slap if needed. “Remember where we are. Even in madness, there are limits.” Phoebe was furious, feeling the weight of Vanessa’s loathing. It was a shock to be attacked now, of all times.

Both women clutched the bottle neck, pushing and pulling with all their might. Phoebe, gripping the bottle body, was oblivious to the urgent footsteps outside the door.

In the heat of the struggle, Vanessa’s grip suddenly slackened; and Phoebe seized the moment, yanked hard. The bottle plunged into Vanessa’s palm. “Ouch, it hurts!”

A terrible scream filled the room as Vanessa’s hand was pierced, it started to bleed.

“Vanessa!”

A tall, dark figure burst in. He shoved Phoebe aside and cradled Vanessa, his normally composed face now etched with panic.

Phoebe stumbled backward, hit the vanity. Ignoring the pain, she looked at Theodore, “Theodore, I…”

“Don’t defend her, Theodore,” Vanessa murmured weakly in his arms. “It wasn’t intentional.”

Without looking back, Theodore took Vanessa up. “I’m taking you to the hospital. Hang in there.”

Phoebe followed calling out, “Theodore…”

He paused, his voice was cold and distant. “Phoebe, if there’s any trouble at tonight’s gala, you’ll be responsible for it.”

With Vanessa in his arms, Theodore strode out of the room.

Left alone, Phoebe realized Vanessa’s ploy. It wasn’t her face she wanted to scar, it was a trap, but Phoebe had walked right into it, allowing Theodore to witness her supposed ‘cruelty.’

Vanessa had played her role to the hilt, ready to sacrifice herself to win. Facing such a ruthless enemy sent shivers down Phoebe’s spine. And Theodore had chosen to believe Vanessa without question. A bitter laugh escaped Phoebe.

Then the announcement came, pulling her back to reality. “Miss Fitzroy, you’re up next. Please proceed to Stage 3 immediately.”

The message repeated thrice, snapping Phoebe out of her reverie.

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