"Now, let's see just how much pity Harvey has for you." Kaitlyn' s voice was a silken threat. She rummaged through my pockets, pulling out my wallet. My driver's license, student ID, and credit cards were all laid bare. "Ava Mercado, architecture student at NYU. Hmm, not bad. But not good enough for Julien, apparently." She held my student ID up to the camera, her intention clear: to strip away any last shred of my privacy.
My heart pounded, a frantic drum against my ribs. No, not my personal details. Not on a live stream, for the entire world to see. "Give that back!" I cried, scrambling forward, pain still radiating from my stomach. I lunged for my wallet, desperate to reclaim it, but one of Kaitlyn's friends, a muscular woman with a stern expression, easily intercepted me, her arm a steel bar across my chest.
"Stay down, bitch," she growled, pushing me back to the floor. The force of it sent a fresh wave of pain through me, and I whimpered, tears finally escaping my eyes. They were hot, humiliating trails down my cheeks.
Kaitlyn watched my struggle with a detached amusement, as if I were a particularly entertaining insect. "Such a pretty face," she mused, her gaze cold. "It'd be a shame if something happened to it, wouldn't it?" Her hand shot out again, and this time, her nails raked across my jawline, drawing thin lines of blood. The sting was immediate, and I cried out, tasting salt and copper. "Still want to pretend you're an innocent little orphan?" she sneered. "Or are you ready to admit you're a conniving gold-digger?"
My breath hitched. "I'm Ava Mercado... Harvey's ward..." The words were weak, barely audible, but I clung to them, to the last fragments of my identity they were trying to erase.
Kaitlyn ignored me, her gaze sweeping around the lavish living room. Her eyes glinted with a possessive avarice. "Look at this place, girls," she purred into her phone, turning slightly to show off the opulent surroundings. "Soon, this will all be mine. But it seems some people think they can get a head start." She turned back to me, malice etched on her face. "Since you like this house so much, Ava, we're going to redecorate it for you. A little 'housewarming' present."
My blood ran cold. "No!" I screamed, a desperate, raw sound. "Don't touch anything! Harvey will kill you!"
"Harvey won't do anything," she retorted, her voice dripping with contempt. "He'll be too busy picking up the pieces of his son's reputation after you've tarnished it." She turned to her cronies. "Girls, let's show our little homewrecker what happens when you try to move in on someone else's territory. Start with that hideous vase." She pointed to a delicate, antique porcelain vase sitting on a pedestal near the fireplace. It was a centuries-old Ming Dynasty piece, a gift to Harvey from a Chinese tech magnate. Priceless.
Janna, energized by the command, abandoned her broken phone and grabbed a heavy brass candelabra. "Time for some home improvements, bitches!" she cackled, holding it up like a weapon. The other two women joined in, a gleeful, destructive energy surging through them.
My eyes widened in horror. "Stop it! That's a Ming vase! It's worth millions!" I clawed at the hands holding me down, thrashing like a wild animal. "You have no idea what you're doing! Harvey will ruin you!"
The muscular woman tightened her grip, effortlessly pinning me. "Millions, huh?" Janna grinned, a manic glint in her eyes. "Even better!" With a sickening crunch, she brought the candelabra down. The vase shattered, sending white shards flying, a devastating symphony of destruction.
A fresh, hot wave of tears streamed down my face. Harvey cherished that vase. It was irreplaceable. "No... please, no," I begged, the words tearing from my throat. My architecture projects, my designs, my future-they were all tied to this house, to Harvey's trust. The thought of his disappointment, the sight of his property ransacked because of me, was a torment worse than any physical pain.
Kaitlyn beamed, her eyes shining with perverse delight. "Oh, she's crying now, girls! Isn't that just precious? Crying over a vase when she's trying to steal a fiancé." She turned to the camera, a triumphant gleam in her eyes. "Let this be a lesson to all you little sluts out there. Don't mess with Kaitlyn Daniels." Her friends, equally ecstatic, began to tear through the room. A lamp crashed, its shade crumpling. Cushions were ripped open, their stuffing spilling like snow. Cabinets were flung open, their contents scattered. It was a whirlwind of senseless, chaotic destruction.
"I'll call the police!" I screamed, my voice raw and hoarse. "You're all going to jail!"
Kaitlyn merely laughed, a cold, brittle sound. "Call them, darling. Tell them your little fairy tale. Who do you think they'll believe? The heartbroken fiancée, or the conniving orphan who tried to break up a family?" She knelt, her face inches from mine, her breath smelling faintly of coffee and spite. "Besides, by the time they get here, we'll be long gone. And you'll be left with nothing but a ruined reputation and a ruined house." She reached out, grasping a strand of my hair and pulling it, hard. I yelped, my head rearing back. "And a few more bruises to remember us by." She slapped me again, a sharper, more deliberate blow this time. My vision swam.
Through the haze of pain, I saw one of Kaitlyn's friends, a slender woman with striking red hair, heading towards Harvey's study. My heart lurched. "No! Not in there!" I shrieked, a primal fear seizing me. "Leave the study alone!"
Kaitlyn' s eyes followed my gaze, her lips curling into a predatory smile. "Oh? What's so special in there, Ava? Your little love letters to Julien?" She stood, a malicious gleam in her eyes. "Let's find out."
The red-haired woman entered the study, returning moments later with a large, leather-bound folder. It wasn't just any folder; it was the original partnership agreement, signed by my father and Harvey, the very foundation of Allison-Mercado Enterprises. It was the last tangible piece of my father' s legacy, a document Harvey kept under lock and key, a sacred testament to their bond.
"What's this, Ava?" Kaitlyn asked, her voice oozing with fake curiosity, as she took the folder from her friend. She ruffled through the pages, her eyes scanning the official-looking documents. "Looks important. Some dusty old papers?"
"That's... that's my father's legacy," I whispered, my voice thick with dread. "It's the original Allison-Mercado partnership agreement. Please, don't touch it." Tears streamed down my face, not from the physical pain, but from the raw, soul-deep terror of seeing my father' s memory desecrated.
Kaitlyn' s eyes widened, a flicker of something new-not pity, but a cold, calculating glee. "Oh, 'daddy's legacy'?" she purred, her finger tracing the gold-embossed letters on the cover. "How precious. Tell me, Ava, how much is daddy's legacy worth to you?" She held it up for the cameras, a sick performance for her online audience.
