Carlos dragged Alexis to the top of the stairs. He shoved her hard.
Alexis lost her balance. She crashed onto the thick Persian rug in the second-floor hallway, her shoulder taking the brunt of the impact. Pain shot down her arm.
She scrambled backward, her palms burning against the carpet fibers, trying to put distance between herself and the madman.
Carlos reached into the inner pocket of his tailored suit jacket. He pulled out a thick stack of glossy photographs. He raised his arm and hurled them directly at her face.
The heavy paper hit her cheeks and fluttered to the ground, scattering across the intricate patterns of the rug.
Alexis looked down. Her breath caught in her throat.
The photos showed her in various hotel beds, tangled in the sheets with different, faceless men. The images were explicit, raw, and entirely fabricated.
"This is why you get nothing!" Carlos screamed, pointing a shaking finger at her. "You filthy whore! You thought you could play me?"
Alexis grabbed one of the photos. Her eyes, trained for years in architectural design, instantly caught the unnatural lighting on the collarbone, the pixelated blurring where her neck met the stranger's shoulder.
She let out a dry, harsh laugh. She gripped the edges of the photo and ripped it straight down the middle.
"This is a pathetic photoshop job, Carlos," she spat, throwing the torn pieces at his shoes. "You're delusional."
"Shut up!" Carlos roared. He stepped forward, raising his heavy leather shoe, aiming a kick at her ribs.
The sharp clack of high heels on the hardwood stairs interrupted him.
Bernice, Carlos's mother, walked up the steps, followed closely by Josie, Alexis's cousin.
Bernice looked at the photos littering the floor. Her face twisted in disgust. "Look at this filth. I always knew you were a slut, Alexis. You've dragged the Martin name through the mud."
Josie hurried forward. She placed a delicate hand on Carlos's chest, leaning her soft body against his rigid muscles.
"Don't be angry, Carlos," Josie cooed, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. "She's not worth raising your blood pressure. We finally got the trash out of the house."
Alexis stared at the three of them. The puzzle pieces slammed together in her head. The sudden divorce. The fake photos. The absolute lack of alimony. It was a coordinated slaughter, and her own cousin was sleeping with the butcher.
Alexis placed her hands flat on the floor and pushed herself up. Her knees shook, but she locked them. She wiped the blood from her lip with the back of her hand, lifting her chin with the ingrained pride of her upbringing.
Josie saw her standing tall. A flash of irritation crossed Josie's eyes. She stepped away from Carlos and walked toward Alexis, extending a hand as if to help her brush off her coat.
Josie leaned closer to Alex, lowered her voice, and whispered maliciously in a voice only Alex could hear, "You're a curse to everyone who comes near you. Luckily, Carlos wisely left. Guess what surprises await you next?"
Alexis didn't blink. She raised her right hand and brought it across Josie's face with every ounce of strength she had left.
The loud crack echoed off the high ceilings.
Josie shrieked. She threw herself backward, collapsing dramatically into Carlos's arms, clutching her rapidly reddening cheek and sobbing loudly.
"You bitch!" Carlos bellowed. He lunged past Josie, his fist pulled back, aiming straight for Alexis's face.
Alexis didn't retreat. She ducked to the side, her hand shooting out to grab the heavy bronze vase sitting on the hallway console table. She swung it downward with brutal force.
A sickeningly sharp crack ripped through the air as a shard tore Carlos's ankle. Carlos let out a painful howl and collapsed to the ground, clutching his leg.
Bernice screamed, clutching her pearls. "Call the police! Arrest this psycho!"
Alexis dropped the vase. It hit the floor with a heavy thud. She looked down at the writhing man and the screaming women.
"I am done with this family," Alexis said, her voice eerily calm and cold.
She turned on her heel. She stepped over the scattered, fake photos, ignoring Carlos's groans. She walked down the stairs, her spine perfectly straight.
She pushed open the heavy front door. The morning sun had already been swallowed by a sudden, heavy wall of snow clouds, plunging the city into a premature, bruised twilight.
A blast of freezing New York winter wind hit her instantly, biting through her thin trench coat.
Alex stepped down the stairs onto the cold street. She pulled her coat tighter around herself, shivering. She reached into her pocket, pulled out her phone, her fingers stiff with cold. She needed to call an Uber. She had to get out of this neighborhood.
She tapped the screen. The battery icon flashed red once, twice, and then the screen went completely black.
Dead.
Alexis stood under the flickering yellow light of a streetlamp that had hummed to life in the midday gloom. The wind howled around her. She had no money. No phone. No home. Her chest tightened, panic finally clawing its way up her throat as the freezing gloom swallowed her.
