Chapter 3: He Slipped

"Well, well," Ethan said. "Look who finally came crawling back to Daddy."

He was smirking. The red mark from yesterday still glowed faintly on his cheek, and somehow he still thought he was winning.

Vanessa stepped out from behind the shelf with a pack of batteries in each hand.

"Hello, Ethan."

Isabella turned. Her eyes went straight past Vanessa to the six overflowing carts behind her, and stayed there a beat too long. Counting. Calculating.

Then she smiled. It was thin and glossy.

"Oh, this is her." She looked Vanessa up and down. "Abandoned by her family, then dumped by her boyfriend. It must be exhausting."

"Ex-boyfriend," Vanessa said. Then she nodded. "But you're right. I did come crawling back."

Ethan's smirk widened. He leaned on the cart like a man who had won a prize. "So you finally realized you can't survive without me?"

Vanessa looked at him for a long moment. At the sunglasses. At the speaker. At the man who had once said "I love you" and "can I borrow forty dollars" in the same breath.

"No," she said. "I realized I can't survive with you."

Someone in the next aisle went, "Ooooh."

Ethan's smirk twitched. "You canceled my card."

"I did."

"That was a joint expense!"

"That was my money with your name printed on it."

"Fix it. Now." He jabbed a finger at the kiosk. "I have sunglasses waiting."

"Ethan." Vanessa tilted her head. "You're standing in a mall with a cart full of things you can't pay for. This is the most honest you've ever seen."

Isabella made a small noise, half laugh, half hiss. Ethan went red from the collar up.

"You think you're so smart?" he snapped. "Look at you. Same clothes as yesterday, buying..." He kicked a sack of rice on her cart. "What even is all this? Daddy's money must've run out and now you're panicking."

"Have a good life," Vanessa said, and turned to leave.

He grabbed her arm.

Big mistake. Again.

Vanessa didn't even think. Twelve years of training took over before her brain caught up. She twisted her wrist out of his grip, caught his elbow, stepped inside and swept his leg.

Ethan hit the floor with a very undignified thud.

The sunglasses on his head cracked in half.

"My... my glasses..." he wheezed.

"They were fake," Vanessa said.

He scrambled up and swung wildly. She stepped left. He stumbled right. She caught his wrist, folded it behind his back and pushed him face-first into the family-size bag of chips.

Crunch.

"Stop! You're hurting me!"

"I haven't even started."

From somewhere behind her came a shriek. Isabella swung her designer handbag at Vanessa's head.

Vanessa ducked without letting go of Ethan. The bag whistled over her hair, kept going, and took out an entire display of pretzel rods.

Isabella followed it, arms flailing, and landed on top of the pile.

"My nails!"

By now, a crowd had gathered. Phones were up. A teenager in a hoodie whispered, "Bro, this is going viral." A small boy asked his mother, "Is the man losing?" and she said, "Yes, honey." An elderly woman cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled, "Get him, sweetheart!"

Vanessa had not, technically, asked for a cheering section.

Ethan wriggled in her grip. She tightened her hold, just enough to remind him who was in charge.

"Just so we're clear," she said, in a voice only he could hear. "I tolerated you for two years. That's the only reason you're still breathing."

"You're crazy," he gasped.

"No. I'm unemployed."

"HEY!"

Two security guards pushed through the crowd, radios crackling. The one in front stopped dead.

It was the guard from this morning. The one who'd asked if there was a big sale.

He looked at Vanessa. He looked at the man face-down in the chips. He looked at the woman groaning in the pretzels.

"Ma'am," he said. "It's been two hours."

"I know."

"You said it was a big sale."

"It was," Vanessa said. "It's over now."

Both guards took her by the arms. Not roughly. More like men who had realized she could bench-press them.

"She attacked me!" Ethan screamed, clutching his wrist. "I'm suing! Call the police!"

"Ma'am, what happened here?" the guard asked.

Vanessa dusted off her sleeves and put on the most innocent face she owned.

"He slipped."

"He slipped?"

"Very badly."

"Ma'am, there are at least forty people filming."

"Then forty people saw him slip."

Somebody in the crowd started to clap.

By the time the guards walked her out, the entire floor was applauding. The grandmother gave a thumbs-up. The teenager in the hoodie yelled, "Queen!"

Behind her, Isabella lay in the pretzels, glaring. Ethan was sobbing about his wrist.

And Vanessa, for the first time in two years, felt completely free.

***

The guards didn't arrest her. They couldn't decide who to charge, so they took her statement, took Ethan's, watched the footage and decided the safest option was to ask her, very politely, to leave.

"I'll need my carts," Vanessa said.

"Ma'am..."

"Six carts. Paid for. I have receipts."

They exchanged a look. Then one of them sighed. "We'll help you load."

It took three trolleys and a very confused mall employee to move everything to the loading bay. Vanessa checked every crate twice. Water: yes. Rice: yes. Twelve crowbars: yes.

At last, she pushed the final cart through the automatic doors into the morning sun.

Her phone buzzed. Then buzzed again. Then refused to stop.

Forty-two notifications. A video of herself flipping Ethan into a bag of chips already had ten thousand views. The caption read: WOMAN DESTROYS EX AT MALL 

The top comment: "He slipped" is my new personality.

Vanessa allowed herself a small smile.

Then she looked up.

A black car sat at the curb, engine off, windows tinted. Beside it, leaning against the door with his arms crossed, stood a man in a dark suit.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Sharp jaw. Eyes like a winter sky.

Her smile vanished.

Adrian Blackwood.

He looked exactly the same as the last time she'd seen him: calm, cold and irritatingly composed, as if the world had never once surprised him.

His gaze slid to the six carts. Then to her. Then, slowly, to his phone.

"Trending," he said. "Already."

"What are you doing here?"

"I saw the video before I saw you. It was a very efficient armbar."

"Thank you."

"It wasn't a compliment."

He pushed off the car. He didn't look angry. Getting angry would have been easier.

"Your father wants you home."

Vanessa's grip tightened on the cart.

Victor Sterling had disowned her. He had told her never to come back.

So why now?