The Surgeon Heiress's Cold-Blooded Revenge

e entrance on 58th Street. She knew the code to the keypad because Arthur u

ear he made hi

r click

of hors d'oeuvres. She grabbed a discarded gray uniform jacket from a laundry

chaos like a ghost. No

rates filled with champagne. She opened the toolbox sittin

rf

ladder to the catwalk

Crystal chandeliers the size of small cars hung from the ceiling

age, holding a microphone. He looked

cracking perfectly. "She is... struggling.

i

d a heavy, silver-topped cane that seemed out of place with his sharp tuxedo. He wasn't swirling champagne; he was staring into a glass of water, his knuckles

directly above the stage. She located the

o the conduit next to the sen

e flame to

oo

shot out, lick

three

. A deafening, mechanical scream t

heavens

Gallons of pressurized water, black with years o

beautiful people sc

e hit it, and it swung wildly. With a crash that sounded like a b

horted out. The room plunged into semi-darkness

of hairspray, melting. Black mascara ran down her face like war

cane. As a waiter stumbled past, Cedric calmly picked up a white tablecloth and held it o

oking for

took off the cap. She climbed down the s

linging to her body. She stepped over the shatter

from his eyes. He blink

than the napkins. He looked

crophone. It was wet

d it. Thu

he only sound was the h

silence and the sight of her blood-stained gown do the talk

, sensing blood in the water, igno

he side of the stage. "Get her! She's e

guards rush

forward, planting his cane firmly. It

f the silver cane and went down face-f

as

ligent, and completely devoid of pity. He tippe

ing onto the stage, her face twisted i

rist in mid-air. She squeezed. She

, her knee

kward, landing hard on her a

er voice a venomous whisper no one else could

outside. The N

tage, wet, bleedin