Chapter 8: The Counter-Strike
Arthur read the text message, a humorless, tight smile touching the corners of his mouth. "Let him threaten," he said, walking over to grab his own tablet from the counter. "Marcus anticipated this exact move. If he calls the police, we have already filed a pre-emptive notice with the local precinct here in upstate New York establishing that you are safe, of voluntary mind, and currently residing with your family. Furthermore, Marcus wants you to send one specific, legally calculated response to that text before we block his number entirely."
Elena raised an eyebrow, curious. "What kind of response?"
"A boundary," Arthur said firmly. "Nothing emotional. Nothing accusatory. Just enough to establish legally that you are severing contact of your own accord due to his conduct. Type this: 'I am safe and staying with my family. Do not contact me again. All future communications must go through my attorney, Marcus Vance.'"
Elena stared at the draft on her phone screen, her thumbs hovering over the virtual keyboard. Typing those words felt like crossing an irreversible Rubicon. Once sent, there was no turning back to the gilded cage she had occupied for the past six months. She took a steadying breath, pressed the send button, and immediately blocked Grant’s number. The screen went clean, the phantom vibrations stopping instantly. The silence that followed was heavy, but it was a clean, healthy silence.
May you like
"Good girl," Arthur murmured, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Now, Marcus needs you to sign the formal retainer agreement and a declaration detailing everything that happened at the gala last night. We need specifics—the names of the people standing closest to you when he struck you, the approximate time, and the exact words he used immediately afterward."
Sitting down at the heavy oak dining table, Elena opened her laptop and began to type. As she recalled the events of the previous evening, the humiliation she had felt in the ballroom transformed into fuel. She remembered the faces of the corporate executives who had laughed, noting down every name she could recall. If Grant and his associates wanted to treat her life like a spectator sport, they were about to learn that the woman they mocked was far more dangerous than they ever imagined.
