Chapter 4 - The Quiet Current|
Her diamond-encrusted heels clicked against the stone as she took a aggressive step forward.
"Get out of my sight," Victoria spat, placing her hand against my shoulder and shoving me backward with all her strength.
I stumbled, my heels catching on the edge of the carpet.
A chorus of light chuckles rippled through the elite crowd. Victoria smiled, intoxicated by the attention and the authority she held over a powerless hotel employee.
"Wait, I'm not finished with you yet," she hissed.
She pulled back her right leg. Swinging her heavy, three-inch jeweled heel in an arc, she aimed straight for my right shin. She wanted to sweep my legs out from under me—to send me crashing backward into the six-tiered crystal fountain that held over two hundred filled champagne glasses.
If I fell into that glass, I would be severely cut. I would be disgraced. I would be fired.
I didn't think.
My mind went blank, wiped clean of fear, worry, and pride.
My father's voice echoed in my ears: Redirect.
My body moved before my conscious mind could register the threat.
I didn't flinch. I didn't step back.
My hand flashed through the air like a striking shadow. My fingers flared open and closed around Victoria’s slender ankle—exactly six inches before her sharp heel could make contact with my bone.
Snap.
The grip was firm, precise, and absolute.
No struggle. No awkward energy. No wasted movement.
I caught her entire momentum and held it completely still in mid-air, using her own weight to freeze her in place.
Victoria’s laughter died instantly. Her eyes went wide as saucers as she found herself pinned, balanced impossibly on one leg like a broken bird, unable to push forward or pull back.
The entire ballroom went dead silent.
I froze, looking down at my own hand holding her ankle.
Horror washed over me. I had broken my promise. I had used the discipline.
I released her ankle immediately, stepping back and lowering my hands to my sides, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
May you like
Before Victoria could shout, an elderly man with silver hair standing near the orchestra slowly rose from his seat. His hands were shaking as he pointed an old finger at me.
"That style..." the old man whispered, his voice carrying through the silent hall. "That style is impossible..."
