Public Ridicule

I checked my phone before stepping out into the financial district.

My inbox was already flooded.

Stephanie and Frederick had spent the night spreading rumors across every high-society group chat and socialite forum.

The narrative was simple and filthy: I hadn't left Alexander. I had been thrown out for being a barren, mentally unstable, useless wife who had suffered a hysterical breakdown.

Stephanie had even played the victim in a voice message, crying about how she tried to "save my marriage" before I turned crazy.

In my past life, this smear campaign would have destroyed me. Now, it was just background noise.

They could laugh all they wanted.

The higher they built their false pedestals today, the harder they would hit the ice later.

I stepped into Winslet Private Banking to collect my late mother's trust, two hundred thousand dollars held in my name.

The moment I walked through the glass doors, the quiet chatter among the clerks died down.

Eyeballs tracked me instantly.

Eyes filled with sneers, whispered insults, and open disgust.

Word had surely traveled fast.

"I am here to access Vault 408 and liquidate my account," I told the teller calmly, keeping my head steady.

The teller didn't bother smiling.

She looked at my plain coat with contempt.

"Ah, Miss Winslet. From what we've heard, your father is already removing you from the family register."

"My legal status doesn't change my mother's trust," I replied, my voice completely flat. "Fetch the manager, Mr. Cole."

Before she could move, Arthur Cole, a longtime golfing buddy of my father, stepped out of his private office with a file in his hands and a greasy smirk on his face.

"No need to rush, Lavina," Cole called out loudly, making sure the entire lobby heard him. "I expected you. Though I assumed you'd bring a psychiatrist, given the troubling reports your father shared this morning."

A few clerks chuckled.

They wanted a show.

They wanted the discarded ex-wife to break down and cry so they could prove I was insane.

"I am here for my certified check," I said, meeting his eyes squarely.

Cole leaned against the counter, looking down at me like I was nothing but dirt.

"Let's be realistic. Your father called me an hour ago, expressing concern over your mental state. Handing cash to a woman who just got kicked out for crazy behavior would be irresponsible."

"The trust is in my name," I stated, my voice cutting through his act like a razor. "You have not a single legal right to hold my money."

Cole's smirk tightened into a sneer. He hated that I wasn't shrinking back.

"We are holding the transfer for forty-eight hours pending a compliance review," Cole announced loudly, slapping the file onto the counter to humiliate me. "If you can prove you haven't lost your mind by then, maybe we'll hand over your little allowance."

The teller tossed a tiny partial withdrawal check of five thousand dollars onto the counter, a pathetic, insulting pittance.

"Take your bus fare, Lavina," Cole whispered maliciously, leaning in. "You're nothing without Alexander and your father. A discarded piece of trash."

The lobby waited in dead silence for my tears or a screaming fit.

I looked at the five-thousand-dollar check.

Then I looked up at Arthur Cole.

I didn't try to yell. Of course, that would make me look horrible and only convince them that the rumors about me being unstable were true. So I didn't cry. I didn't let out a single sob.

I simply picked up the check, folded it into my purse, and looked Cole dead in the eyes.

A slow, completely dead smile spread across my face.

"Forty-eight hours, Mr. Cole," I said softly. "Ensure every single cent is ready."

Cole froze.

The smirk vanished from his face as a sudden chill hit him.

There was zero anger or pain in my eyes, only an icy, dead stillness.

Without another word, I turned and walked out. I kept my chin up and my back straight, taking mental notes of every face that had snickered at me.

Arthur Cole.

The teller.

Winslet Bank.

Right now, all they could think about was gathering funds and flaunting their money. In sixty days, when their paper money became useless garbage in the cold, I would remember every single one of them.

Inside his office, Arthur Cole watched me leave through the window, uncomfortable sweat breaking out on his neck.

He pulled out his phone with shaking hands and dialed my father.

"Frederick?" Cole rasped, his voice faltering. "She just left."

"Did she cry?" Frederick's arrogant voice came through the speaker. "Did she beg for mercy?"

"No..." Cole swallowed hard. "She didn't cry at all. She took the partial check and walked out."

"She didn't make a scene?"

"Fred, it was unnatural," Cole whispered, a sudden knot of dread tightening in his stomach. "She stared at me and smiled. A dead, terrifying smile... It felt like she was looking at a corpse."