Chapter 4

A few days later, it was Anthony’s 30th birthday banquet.

It was the grandest event of the year in Vicente. Capos, underbosses, consiglieri, made men, and associates from all sides arrived to pay their respects.

In previous years, the woman standing beside Anthony, receiving the congratulations of the crowd, had always been Mabel.

However, on that day, the one at his side was Cheryl, dressed in white, smiling softly.

She clung to Anthony's arm, her expression shy yet blissful, basking in the spotlight that had once belonged to Mabel.

The guests exchanged glances, an unspoken understanding passing between them as whispers spread.

"So the rumors are true. The Oliver family’s Donna has fallen out of favor."

"Tsk. Men are all the same. Once they’ve made it, who wouldn’t prefer someone young and spotless? Mabel’s hands are stained with too much blood. How could she compare to Ms. Reyes, who looks so gentle?"

…

Anthony seemed to enjoy Cheryl's dependence. From time to time, he leaned down to murmur in her ear, shielding her from excessive toasts.

Just as the atmosphere reached its peak, the grand doors of the hall were shoved open with force.

All eyes snapped toward the entrance.

Mabel walked in from the backlight.

She was not wearing an elaborate gown but a sleek black velvet dress. The high slit revealed long, straight legs. Her lips were a vivid crimson, her hair loose and flowing.

She wore no jewelry save for the obsidian ring on her ring finger.

Yet the authority unique to the Donna radiated unmistakably from her.

Her beauty was sharp, unrestrained, and aggressively dazzling—so striking that it was impossible to look away.

The contrast was immediate.

Cheryl's face went pale as she instinctively shrank into Anthony's arms.

He had not expected Mabel to appear. A flicker of surprise, followed by undisguised admiration, crossed his eyes.

Mabel walked straight up to them, casually picked up a glass of red wine, and looked at Cheryl with a faint, mocking smile.

"Ms. Reyes, you look beautiful tonight. Anyone who didn't know better might think you're the one marrying into the Oliver family."

The girl's eyes reddened. Her voice trembled.

"M…Mabel, you've misunderstood. Anthony was only worried I wouldn't adapt to an occasion like this…"

"Is that so?" Mabel let out a soft laugh, her tone laced with ridicule. "Zachary is still watching from above. And yet, you can't wait to hold his elder brother's arm, playing social games among power and prestige. That so-called devotion of yours… How cheap it looks."

"Enough!"

Anthony snapped sharply, stepping in front of Cheryl. His gaze darkened as it locked onto Mabel.

"Mabel, it's my birthday. Do you really have to make a scene in front of everyone?"

Mabel drained her wine in one go, then slammed the empty glass onto the table.

"Anthony, you’re the one doing something disgraceful. Since you're so eager to protect her, I'll give you exactly what you want tonight."

With that, she removed the obsidian ring from her finger and tossed it away.

The entire hall erupted in shock.

That ring symbolized the Donna’s status. How could she throw it away so casually?

Mabel turned and walked off without looking back.

"If you want it," she said coolly, "crawl over and pick it up yourself."

…

On the third-floor terrace, the night breeze was cool.

Mabel lit a cigarette.

She watched the smoke coil upward, blurring the lights and music of the garden below, and felt an oppressive heaviness in her chest.

Bastion Manor had already shut her out.

She was now an outsider.

Soft footsteps sounded behind her.

Without turning, Mabel said coldly, "Get lost."

"Mabel, why go this far?"

Cheryl's voice was light.

The timid fragility from earlier was gone. The tears on her face had dried long ago, replaced by a provocative smile.

"Anthony only has me in his heart. The more you make trouble, the further you push him away. He said you're too strong, and being around you exhausts him. What he needs is a place to rest, not a reminder of how bloody the past was. You're a comrade-in-arms to him, nothing more."

Mabel's fingers paused briefly around her cigarette. Then she let out a cold laugh.

"So you're finally done pretending?"

Cheryl stepped closer, lowering her voice.

"So what if I was pretending? As long as Anthony believes it, that's enough.

"Mabel, you're old. Your time is over. Zachary is dead. Those still alive have to move forward."

She smiled maliciously.

"Tell me, if Zachary knew his brother and his fiancée ended up together, would he crawl out of hell in rage?"

Smack.

Mabel slapped her hard across the face.

"You're not worthy of saying his name."

Cheryl's head snapped to the side. She covered her cheek, but instead of anger, a strange smile spread across her face.

"Why so angry? Come on, hit me again. The harder you hit, the more Anthony will feel sorry for me."

Suddenly, the girl grabbed Mabel's wrist, her eyes wild.

Mabel's gaze turned icy. Instinctively, her hand went to her waist.

It was a habit; she never went anywhere without a gun.

Now, the muzzle pressed squarely against Cheryl's forehead.

"Slapping is boring," Mabel said coldly. "I'll send you to your death instead. Seeing a corpse? Now, that will make him truly heartbroken."

Her voice dropped to absolute zero.

She meant it. She was genuinely prepared to kill.

Yet, Cheryl did not retreat in the slightest. Her smile only grew brighter, more twisted.

"Do it," she whispered. "Pull the trigger, Mabel. Let Anthony see how you kill the woman Zachary loved most."

As she spoke, she suddenly reached out and grabbed the finger Mabel had hooked on the trigger.

Mabel's pupils shrank. She did not have time to pull away.

Cheryl forced the gun downward, aiming it at her own shoulder, and pulled the trigger.

Bang!

The gunshot exploded across the terrace.

Cheryl screamed, then used the recoil to fling herself backward over the railing, plummeting toward the ground below.

"Argh! Help! Mabel! Don't kill me!"

The shrill scream tore through the night, drawing gasps from the guests below as they looked up.

Mabel stood at the railing, gun still in her hand, staring down at the instantly chaotic crowd.

She knew it.

This round: she had lost again.

All because she was not ruthless enough.