WebNovels

Chapter 2 - Chapter 2 – The Public Humiliation

Sarah didn't want to go.

But the world was watching.

The Windsor engagement gala — planned for months, glittering with London's elite — was meant to celebrate her and Dominic.

Now, it would bury her instead.

Her stepmother insisted she attend. "Show them you're unshaken. We cannot afford weakness."

Easy words from a woman who'd never been humiliated in front of an entire city.

Sarah stood before the mirror as her makeup artist fussed over her pale face.

"Smile, Miss Windsor," the woman said softly. "You look... beautiful."

Sarah forced one. It didn't reach her eyes.

No diamond could hide a bruise like heartbreak.

Her silver gown shimmered as she descended the grand staircase of the Windsor estate.

Flashbulbs exploded. Champagne flowed.

Every guest turned to look — pity, curiosity, delight in her downfall.

Dominic was already there.

Tall. Perfect. Smiling.

And on his arm, wearing Sarah's planned gown in a different color — Vanessa.

The air left Sarah's lungs.

Vanessa's hand rested on Dominic's chest like she'd claimed his heart and wanted the world to know.

Dominic looked uncomfortable, but not enough to stop her.

He glanced at Sarah only once — guilt flickering and dying just as quickly.

The crowd whispered.

Their words buzzed like hornets.

"Is that the stepsister?"

"She stole her fiancé?"

"Poor Sarah. I heard she caught them in bed."

"She's pretending it didn't happen."

Sarah walked past them, head high.

Her father had raised her to never show weakness — even when bleeding.

But her hands trembled around her clutch, nails biting into skin.

She reached for a glass of champagne, but her reflection in the crystal stopped her.

Tired eyes. Red lips drawn into something that wasn't a smile.

She almost didn't recognize herself.

Then a low voice behind her said,

"Quite the circus, isn't it?"

Her spine stiffened.

She turned — and there he was.

The stranger from the bar.

Dante Moretti.

He wore black again — the kind of tailored that whispered money and danger.

He wasn't smiling, but his eyes… they glimmered with dark amusement.

"What are you doing here?" she asked quietly.

He took her empty glass and set it aside.

"Watching."

"Why?"

He tilted his head slightly. "Because you don't belong with these people. They feed on weakness. You're too proud to give them that, but I see it anyway."

She hated that he was right.

She hated that she felt seen.

Sarah's voice was sharp. "Do you always show up at other people's tragedies?"

"Only the interesting ones."

She should've walked away.

Instead, she stayed.

Dominic's laughter cut through the air.

Vanessa clung to his arm as the photographer snapped photos — the perfect couple, smiling for the front page.

Sarah turned back toward the crowd just as her stepmother, Eleanor, approached.

"Smile, Sarah. Reporters are here. Pretend you don't care."

Pretend.

That word again.

Sarah lifted her chin and smiled for the camera.

Inside, she was breaking piece by piece.

The photographer's flash blinded her for a second — and when it cleared, Dante was still watching from across the room.

He didn't blink. Didn't move.

But there was something in his eyes that made her heart skip.

Curiosity. Control. Maybe both.

Then Dominic approached.

"Sarah, can we talk?" he said, voice low, like she owed him privacy.

The guests went quiet, pretending not to listen.

Sarah smiled sweetly. "Of course, darling."

She leaned close enough for everyone to hear and whispered,

"Next time you betray someone, at least close the door."

Gasps rippled through the room.

Dominic's face went red.

Vanessa's smirk faltered.

Dante's mouth curved — a small, dangerous smile.

Dominic grabbed her wrist, his voice sharp. "Don't make a scene."

Sarah pulled free. "You made the scene. I'm just giving it an ending."

The crowd whispered louder.

Reporters scribbled. Cameras clicked.

Eleanor hissed, "Sarah, enough!"

But Sarah turned on her heels and walked away, her gown sweeping behind her like a queen's final march.

The music faltered. The night shattered.

She reached the garden terrace, chest heaving, vision blurred with tears she refused to shed.

Her hands shook as she gripped the railing, the city lights spinning below her.

"You handled that well," said a low voice behind her.

She didn't need to turn. She knew it was him.

Dante moved closer, slow, deliberate.

"I wasn't performing," she said bitterly.

"Of course you were. You all are."

She turned, anger flashing. "You don't know me."

He studied her — calm, unreadable.

"No. But I know pain when I see it. And I know power when it's waiting to be used."

Sarah frowned. "Power?"

"You've been humiliated. Betrayed. They think you'll disappear. But if you wanted… you could destroy them all."

His words sank deep, dangerous and tempting.

"Why would you care?" she asked quietly.

He stepped closer, his scent wrapping around her — clean smoke, expensive whiskey, something darker.

"Because I don't like seeing potential wasted."

She almost laughed. "You talk like you're recruiting me."

He smiled faintly. "Maybe I am."

Sarah stared at him. "And what do you get out of it?"

Dante's gaze held hers. "Entertainment. Maybe satisfaction. Maybe more."

His honesty startled her. No lies. No charm. Just dark certainty.

She should've been scared of him.

Instead, her pulse raced.

He took her hand before she could pull away, brushing his thumb against her pulse.

"You'll learn something soon, Sarah Windsor," he said softly.

"In this world, you either get even, or you get erased."

Her breath caught.

"Which one are you?" she asked.

He leaned in, close enough for his whisper to graze her skin.

"Neither. I'm the one who does the erasing."

The words sank into her like a spark into gasoline.

Then he let go — just like that — and disappeared into the night, leaving her with her trembling hands and her furious heartbeat.

Inside, the orchestra started again, pretending nothing had happened.

But the world had already shifted.

Sarah Windsor wasn't the same woman who walked into that party.

Something colder had taken root inside her.

Something dangerous.

She looked up at the stars — silver and sharp above the London skyline.

Her reflection in the glass doors was no longer a victim's.

It was a woman with purpose.

As she turned to leave, her phone buzzed.

A new message. No name.

Just words that made her blood freeze and her lips curve into a slow, dangerous smile:

> Still want revenge?

More Chapters