Blair Phillips POV:

The ballroom descended into a cacophony of screams and frantic calls for security. The air, once filled with polite chatter and the clinking of glasses, was now thick with panic.

"What is going on?"

"Is that… isn' t that Blair Phillips? The one Fitzgerald kicked out five years ago?"

"My God, she' s completely unhinged."

The whispers swirled around me like vultures circling a kill. They were right. I was unhinged. Fitzgerald had unhinged me.

"I heard he sent her a video… of her horse…"

"He what? That' s monstrous."

"Shh! The Kirks will hear you. Still, to come back like this… she must be desperate."

I ignored them all, my focus pinned on Fitzgerald. He was looking at his bleeding hand, but he wasn' t wincing in pain. A slow, strange smile was spreading across his face. It was the smile of a predator who had just been reminded how much it enjoyed the hunt. The sight of it sent a shiver of pure hatred through me.

Cassondra, still on the floor, scrambled to his side, ignoring her own injury. "Fitz, are you okay? That bitch… she hurt you!"

She glared up at me, her face a mask of fury and tears. "How dare you? After everything the Kirks did for you, you ungrateful orphan! You should be on your knees thanking him, not attacking him!"

I let out a short, humorless laugh. "On my knees? Is that what he' s teaching you now, Cassondra? To be a good little pet?"

I glanced from her tear-streaked face to Fitzgerald' s dark, possessive gaze. "He' s certainly trained you well. You' ve mastered the 'loyal dog' act perfectly."

Fitzgerald stepped in front of her, shielding her from my view. The gesture was so familiar it made my stomach churn. He always did that, protecting his latest toy while trying to break his old one.

"Our relationship is over, Blair," he said, his voice dangerously low. "You were cast out. You have no right to be here, and you certainly have no right to touch her."

"I have every right," I spat back.

He took a step closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over me. "The only person I love is Cassondra," he said, the words a deliberate jab. I knew he didn't love her. Fitzgerald was incapable of love. He was only capable of obsession and possession. "How did a piece of trash like you even get in here? Crawl back to whatever gutter you came from. You will never be a part of this family again."

He looked down his nose at me, the picture of aristocratic disdain. The same look he' d given me the day he' d thrown me out with nothing but the clothes on my back.

"And you will pay for what you did to Cassondra' s face," he hissed. "I' ll make sure of it."

Security was finally pushing through the crowd. Fitzgerald gestured to them, a casual flick of his wrist. One of the guards, a burly man I didn' t recognize, approached me cautiously. Fitzgerald then did something that made my blood run cold. He reached into his jacket, pulled out a small, ornate fruit knife from his dinner setting, and held it out to the guard.

"Give her a weapon," Fitzgerald commanded, his smile widening into a terrifying grin. "Let' s make it a fair fight. I want to see her break."

I just laughed. The sound was harsh and broken, echoing in the suddenly silent ballroom. "You think you can break me, Fitz? You' ve been trying for years. All you did was make me stronger."

The guard hesitated, looking from Fitzgerald' s crazed eyes to my determined ones. I didn' t wait for him. I snatched the knife from Fitzgerald's hand, its cold, solid weight a comfort.

I pointed the tip of the knife at his heart.

"You' re pathetic," I whispered, my voice shaking with a rage that had been simmering for five years. "You think this is a game? You think you still have power over me?"

My laughter grew louder, wilder. "You don' t get it, do you? I didn' t come back to play. I came back to burn your entire world to the ground."

The memory of Comet' s final moments flashed through my mind. The terrified whinny, the cold, industrial sound of the bolt gun. The image of me, on my knees in the mud, begging Fitzgerald to spare him. He had just laughed, that same cruel smile on his face. He had called me pathetic then, too.

"You' re going to regret this, Fitz," I said, my voice dropping to a venomous hiss. "I swear on Comet' s grave, one day, you will kneel before me and beg for the mercy you never showed him. And I will laugh, just like you did."

The smile on his face vanished, replaced by a thunderous scowl. He knew I meant it. He knew the game was over.

"And you," I said, turning my gaze to Cassondra, who was cowering behind him, "will be right there beside him."

My wild laughter echoed through the hall as security finally surrounded me. But they were too late. The first shot in my war had already been fired.

Blair Phillips POV:

Fitzgerald' s hand shot out, clamping around my neck before anyone could react. The air was violently forced from my lungs. Black spots danced at the edges of my vision as he squeezed, his thumb pressing into my windpipe.

"I should have killed you five years ago," he snarled, his face inches from mine. His eyes were no longer filled with cold amusement, but with pure, murderous rage. This was the real Fitzgerald, the monster I knew so well.

He slammed me backward. My body hit the floor hard, the impact jarring my bones. The shattered glass from the champagne bottle dug into my back and arms, sharp stabs of pain that were nothing compared to the pressure on my throat.

He was on top of me in an instant, one hand still crushing my neck, the other grabbing a fistful of my hair and yanking my head back.

"Kneel," he commanded, his voice a low, terrifying growl. "Kneel and beg for my forgiveness."

My hands clawed uselessly at his wrist, my nails scraping against his skin. I couldn' t breathe. The world was narrowing to a dark tunnel.

"I gave you everything, Blair," he hissed, his face contorted in a mask of psychotic fury. "I gave you a home. A name. Your life is mine to give, and mine to take away."

A sick, twisted smile spread across his lips. "But I won' t let you die. Not yet. That would be too easy." He leaned in closer, his breath hot against my ear. "You' re my favorite toy. And I' m not done playing with you."

The memory of a video call flashed in my mind. It was from Cassondra, a week after I' d been exiled. She was laughing, showing off a new diamond bracelet.

"Fitz bought this for me," she had cooed, her voice dripping with malice. "A little thank you gift. For getting rid of the competition."

She had then flipped the camera, showing Fitzgerald in the background, staring out a window. "He was so disappointed you didn' t put up more of a fight for your precious horse," she' d said. "He wanted to see you break. He told me he loves watching the light die in your eyes."

Her voice had dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "Be careful, Blair. If he gets tired of me, you might be next on his list. And he won't be satisfied with just killing you."

The memory fueled a final, desperate surge of defiance. I gathered the little saliva I had left in my mouth, thick with the metallic taste of blood from my bitten lip, and spat it directly into Fitzgerald' s face.

A glob of red landed on his perfectly sculpted cheek.

His eyes widened in shock, then narrowed in pure revulsion. For a moment, his grip on my throat loosened as he recoiled.

It was all the opening I needed.

I gasped for air, a raw, ragged breath that burned my lungs.

"Disgusted, Fitz?" I rasped, a bloody smile stretching my lips. "Good. Get used to it."

I mimicked his earlier tone, my voice a broken, mocking echo of his own. "I' m not done playing with you either."

My gaze flickered past him to the horrified faces in the crowd. "I came back to make every single person who hurt me pay," I declared, my voice growing stronger with every word. "And I always start with the one at the top."

Fitzgerald' s face was a thundercloud of rage. He wiped the spittle from his cheek with the back of his hand.

"Fine," he said, his voice dangerously calm. "You want to play? Let' s play."

He stood up, towering over me. "Security," he called out, his voice ringing with authority. "Watch her. Don' t let her move."

He then turned his back on me, walking over to Cassondra, who was now being tended to by her friends. He knelt beside her, his expression softening into one of gentle concern as he brushed a stray, blood-soaked strand of hair from her face.

"It' s okay, darling," he murmured, his voice now a soothing balm. "I' m here. I' ll take care of it."

Cassondra dissolved into theatrical sobs, burying her face in his chest.

I pushed myself into a sitting position, my body screaming in protest. The sharp edges of glass dug deeper into my skin, but I barely felt it. All I could feel was the searing heat of my hatred.

The whispers started again, this time laced with a cruel sort of pity.

"She' s a fool to challenge him."

"Did you see the way he looked at Cassondra? He truly loves her."

"Poor girl. She never stood a chance. She' s just an orphan he took in. She should have known her place."

Someone near me took out their phone. A video started playing. The sound of a terrified horse. My horse. Comet.

The sound hit me like a physical blow, stealing the air from my lungs all over again.

Blair Phillips POV:

Comet' s terrified whinny echoed in the cavernous ballroom, a ghost' s scream from a five-year-old grave. The sound sliced through the cold fog in my mind, igniting a white-hot inferno of pure, animalistic rage.

My vision tunneled. The gilded ceiling, the crystal chandeliers, the horrified faces of the guests-they all vanished. There was only the sound. That terrible, final sound.

With a guttural scream that was torn from the depths of my soul, I scrambled to my feet. I grabbed the nearest shard of glass from the floor and lunged at the woman holding the phone.

She shrieked as I swung, the glass slicing a clean line across her forearm. The phone clattered to the marble floor, the video still playing.

Another guest screamed. The circle of onlookers, who had been inching closer like morbid tourists, scrambled back in terror.

I turned, my eyes wild, the bloody shard of glass held out like a talon. I saw the woman I had cut, her face pale with shock, staring at the blood welling from her arm as if it were a foreign substance. The sight of her pain brought a flicker of dark satisfaction. It was a beautiful, crimson masterpiece against the canvas of her pale skin.

The whispers died instantly. The room was so quiet I could hear the frantic pounding of my own heart. No one moved. No one dared to even breathe too loudly. They were all looking at me, at the "crazy" woman with blood on her hands and madness in her eyes.

And for the first time that night, they were afraid of me. Good.

The security guards, who had been closing in, stopped in their tracks. They exchanged uncertain glances, their professional training failing them in the face of such raw, unpredictable fury. They knew I was Fitzgerald Kirk's problem, but they also knew a cornered animal was the most dangerous kind.

"Useless trash," I muttered, my lip curling in a sneer. They weren't a threat. They were just part of the scenery.

My target was Fitzgerald.

I pushed past the frozen statues of the security team and stalked towards the private lounge where I knew he had taken Cassondra. The sounds from the ballroom faded behind me, replaced by the roaring in my ears.

The door to the lounge was slightly ajar. I could hear their voices from within.

"Get Dr. Evans here now," Fitzgerald was saying, his voice tight with controlled anger. "And tell him to be discreet."

There was a soft sniffle. "Fitz," Cassondra whimpered. "She's crazier than before. Did you see her eyes? It was like she wanted to kill me."

I pressed my ear to the door.

"That day... after the video... she came at me with the poker," Cassondra's voice trembled. "If you hadn't stopped her, she would have blinded me. Or worse. You have to do something, Fitz! You can't let her get away with this again!"

"I know, darling. I'll handle it," Fitzgerald soothed. There was a pause. When he spoke again, his voice was a low, chilling murmur, meant only for her but loud enough for me to hear. "She's a broken toy that just needs to be put back in her box. I enjoyed breaking her once. I'll enjoy it again."

He chuckled, a dark, ugly sound. "She always had so much fire. So much fight. Especially when it came to that stupid horse. She actually defied me for it. Me. Can you believe it?"

My hand trembled. I remembered that day. He had come to my room, his eyes glittering with a strange light. He had tried to kiss me, to touch me. Comet had sensed my fear. My beautiful, brave horse had kicked down his stall door and charged, placing himself between me and Fitzgerald, his teeth bared.

The memory was so vivid I could almost feel the rough wood of the wall against my back, the terror that had seized me. Fitzgerald had wanted more than just my obedience. He had wanted to own me, body and soul. He had wanted to put his child inside me, to chain me to him forever. Comet had saved me. And Fitzgerald had never forgiven him for it. The attack had left me barren, unable to conceive. A fact that had enraged Fitzgerald even more.

The roaring in my ears intensified. My phone vibrated in my clutch. I glanced at the screen. Jordan.

My finger hovered over the ignore button, but then I answered.

"Blair? Are you okay? My security just told me what happened. Stay right there. I'm coming." His voice was a lifeline of sanity in my sea of madness.

"Jordan," I whispered, my own voice sounding foreign and broken. "He's here. I'm... I'm going to kill him."

"Don't do anything, Blair. Wait for me. Please."

But I couldn't wait. The rage was a physical thing, a beast clawing its way out of my chest.

"Help me, Jordan," I choked out, a single tear escaping and tracing a path through the grime on my cheek. "Come and get me."

I ended the call.

I took a deep breath, the air burning my raw throat. Then, with a scream that held five years of pain, rage, and grief, I kicked the lounge door open.

It slammed against the wall with a deafening crash.

Fitzgerald and Cassondra spun around, their faces a picture of shock.

I didn't hesitate. I lunged forward, the knife I had taken from him still in my hand. He tried to push Cassondra aside, but he wasn't fast enough.

I drove the small blade deep into his shoulder.

He cried out, a sharp, guttural sound of pain.

I twisted the knife, my eyes locked on his.

"This," I snarled, my face inches from his, "is for Comet. Now, go to hell."