Margaret: HOW CLUMSY!
Margaret deliberately slammed her shoulder into Clara's side, sending the young woman spinning off balance across the slick floor. Before Clara could catch her footing, Margaret delivered a brutal, open-handed slap across her face that echoed sharply above the music. Clara crashed hard onto the cold marble, a sharp cry escaping her lips as her knee struck the ground with bone-crunching force. A collective gasp rippled through the surrounding crowd of aristocrats, though nobody dared to step forward and help.
Clara: Ah... my knee...
Margaret: Get up off the floor, you pathetic little fraud! You're making a scene!
Clara: You pushed me on purpose, Margaret...
Margaret: Prove it! Who do you think these people are going to believe—a Vance family matriarch or a penniless nobody?
Clara curled inward, clutching her throbbing knee and her reddened cheek as hot tears of humiliation stung her eyes. The ballroom music continued to play its cheerful tune, providing a sickening soundtrack to her suffering. Footsteps echoed heavily across the marble as Elena rushed out from the side corridor, her tailored grey suit cutting a sharp, authoritative figure against the sea of evening gowns. Elena dropped to her knees beside Clara, her face tightening with fierce concern as she inspected the injury.
Elena: Clara, look at me. Are you alright?
Clara: MY KNEE... I think she fractured it, Elena...
Elena: Stay very still. Don't try to stand up yet.
Margaret: Well, if it isn't the family's favorite corporate watchdog. Come to cry over charity cases, Elena?
Elena slowly rose to her feet, her expression shifting from maternal concern to a cold, terrifying fury that made the surrounding guests step back in sudden dread. She didn't waste a single breath on words as she marched straight toward the older woman.