Chapter 8 - Feral Threats and Broken MasksBut Marcus wasn't done. The realization that he had been completely stripped of his luxury, his status, and his power made something snap inside him.
Instead of leaving with the police, he used a secondary, old delivery key he had kept in his wallet to bypass the service elevator's lower lobby. He ran up the stairs to the penthouse foyer, screaming my name like a madman, the police officers scrambling up the stairs behind him.
He burst through the heavy mahogany double doors of the penthouse, his face contorted in an ugly, wild rage. He looked absolutely feral.
"Evelyn!" he roared, pointing his finger at me, his face red, his expensive suit rumpled. "You think you can do this to me? You think you can throw me out like trash? I made you! Nobody would care about your stupid fantasy books if I hadn't managed your image!"
I stood in the center of the beautiful, sun-drenched living room, wearing a stunning, vibrant green silk dress. I didn't flinch. I didn't run. I simply held up my phone, my thumb hovering over the camera button.
Behind Marcus, David and his family had somehow scrambled up the stairs too, collapsed on the hardwood floor in absolute exhaustion and tears, their dirty clothes and cheap trash bags scattered around them like a mockery of the luxury that surrounded them. David was crying, holding his sobbing children, while Marcus stood over them, screaming at me.
I smiled. A real, genuine, and incredibly victorious smile.
I raised the phone, framing Marcus's hysterical, pointing face, the crying family on the floor, and my own radiant, unbothered expression in the lens.
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Click.
I took a selfie. The ultimate receipt of the moment his fragile ego shattered into a million pieces.
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