Constance stared at the back of her hand, a red mark blooming where Aisling had smacked it. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish.
"You savage!" Constance shrieked. "You have no class!"
Aisling crossed her arms over her chest and smirked. "Better a savage than a parasite who confuses cruelty with class."
Brendon finally snapped out of his shock. He puffed up his chest, trying to reclaim his territory. He pointed at the door. "Get out of my house, Aisling. Now."
Aisling didn't even turn her head to look at him. "Shut up, you pathetic mama's boy. You can't even protect your own wife."
The insult hit Brendon's fragile ego like a bullet. His face turned a dark, ugly red. He lunged forward, reaching out to grab Aisling by the shoulder and physically throw her out.
Christen moved faster. She stepped in front of Aisling, her body acting as a shield. She glared at Brendon, her eyes burning with a violent intensity he had never seen before.
"Touch her," Christen hissed, her voice vibrating with rage, "and see what happens."
Brendon froze. His hand hovered in the air. He actually took a step back, intimidated by the raw hatred radiating from his wife.
Constance saw her son retreat and lost her mind. "You ungrateful bitch!" she screamed at Christen. "You bring outsiders in to attack your own husband? You are a disgrace to this family!"
Christen looked at the mother and son. The pristine suits, the expensive watches, the absolute rot underneath it all. The last three years of her life flashed before her eyes-a pathetic, desperate attempt to belong to a family that was nothing but a beautiful corpse.
She took a deep breath. The suffocating weight she had carried for three years lifted off her chest. She stood up perfectly straight.
"The Jimenez family is a joke," Christen said. Her voice was terrifyingly calm. "You are an empty shell built on lies and dirty secrets."
Constance gasped, clutching her chest as if she had been stabbed. "Get out! Get out of my son's house!"
"I'm leaving," Christen said. She looked directly at Brendon. The silence in the hallway was absolute.
"And I want a divorce."
The words dropped like a bomb.
Brendon's pupils dilated. His jaw went slack. "What?"
Constance stared for a second, then burst into a sharp, hysterical laugh. "A divorce? Is this your little game to get a payout? Read your prenup, you stupid girl. You won't get a single dime from us."
"Your money is filthy," Christen said, her voice steady. "I wouldn't take a cent if you begged me. I'm leaving with nothing."
Panic finally pierced through Brendon's arrogance. He realized she meant it. His perfect image, his controlled life, was shattering.
"No!" Brendon roared, his voice cracking. "I do not agree to a divorce! You are not leaving!"
Christen ignored him. She bent down and picked up her canvas bag. She turned toward the door.
Constance saw Christen dismissing them, turning her back on their authority. Her mind snapped.
She lunged forward with terrifying speed. She raised her arm high and swung with every ounce of strength in her body.
Aisling was blocked by Brendon's broad shoulders and couldn't reach them in time. Christen, weighed down by the heavy bag, couldn't duck fast enough. She only managed to turn her head slightly.
Smack.
The sound of flesh hitting flesh echoed sharply in the hallway.
Constance's palm connected brutally with the left side of Christen's face. The sheer force of the blow snapped Christen's head to the side.
A stinging, burning pain exploded across her cheek. Her ear rang with a high-pitched whine. She tasted the warm, metallic tang of blood pooling inside her cheek where her teeth had cut the flesh.
The hallway went dead silent.
Brendon stared at his mother in horror, but his feet remained glued to the floor. He didn't move to help his wife.
Aisling let out a guttural scream of pure rage. She shoved Brendon out of the way with both hands, charging forward like a lioness.
