His Lethal Wife: The Heiress's Vicious Comeback

The wind caught Arthur's sleeve as his hand swung down. The reporters' cameras flashed, freezing the violence in stark white light.

Vivian's eyes tracked the trajectory of his palm. Her face remained a mask of terror, but her right hand slipped smoothly into the hidden slit pocket of her gown.

Her fingertips brushed the cold metal cylinder of a tactical micro-syringe. It was loaded with a lethal dose of sodium thiopental.

Her thumb rested on the plunger. If his hand touched her skin, she would drive the needle into his radial artery. He would be dead before he hit the floor.

The slap was three inches from her cheek.

A massive hand shot out from the dark. Long, powerful fingers clamped around Arthur's wrist like a steel vice.

The loud smack of flesh hitting flesh echoed on the balcony.

Ethan Thorne stood there. The shadows seemed to cling to his broad shoulders. His jaw was locked so tight the muscles twitched.

Arthur gasped. The bones in his wrist ground together under Ethan's crushing grip.

Ethan didn't say a word. He twisted his wrist and shoved.

Arthur flew backward. He stumbled over his own feet and crashed hard into the glass doors, sliding down to the floor.

Ethan stepped in front of Vivian. His broad back completely blocked her from the cameras.

He looked down at her. His eyes scanned the spilled champagne on her dress, the rapid rise and fall of her chest. His gaze lingered for a fraction of a second on her right hand, still hidden in her pocket.

Sophia saw her father fall. She pointed a shaking, bloody finger at Vivian.

"She pushed me!" Sophia shrieked to the reporters. "She tried to kill me! Arrest her!"

Arthur scrambled to his feet, clutching his bruised wrist. "You heard her! Call the police! She's a murderer!"

The reporters raised their cameras, hungry for the scandal.

Ethan let out a low, dark laugh. The sound sent a shiver down the spines of everyone on the balcony.

He raised his hand and snapped his fingers.

J.D. Rivers stepped onto the balcony, followed by four Blackwater guards. They immediately formed a wall, blocking the exit.

J.D. held up a sleek tablet. He tapped the screen.

"This balcony is equipped with military-grade infrared security cameras," Ethan said coldly. "Let's see the tape."

J.D. turned the tablet toward the reporters.

The high-definition night-vision footage played. It clearly showed Sophia screaming, charging like a mad dog, and throwing herself at Vivian. It showed Vivian shrinking back in 'fear', and Sophia slipping on the marble, smashing her own ribs against the planter.

It was undeniable proof.

Sophia's screams died in her throat. Her mouth hung open.

Arthur stared at the screen. The remaining color drained from his face. He looked like a man standing on the gallows.

"My legal team will be filing charges for attempted murder and defamation first thing in the morning," Ethan announced. His voice left no room for negotiation.

The reporters furiously typed on their phones. The Vance family was officially dead and buried.

Ethan turned his back on them. He shrugged off his heavy, custom-tailored suit jacket.

He draped it over Vivian's shoulders. The jacket was massive on her. It smelled of expensive cologne and the heat of his skin. It was a physical brand. A claim of absolute protection.

He placed his hand on the small of her back and guided her off the balcony. They walked past Arthur without a single glance.

They stepped into the private VIP elevator. The heavy steel doors slid shut, cutting off the chaos.

The elevator began its rapid descent. The silence in the small box was thick and heavy.

Ethan turned his head. He looked down at Vivian.

Vivian had dropped the terrified act. Her posture was straight, her eyes cold and calculating.

Ethan's lips curved into a dangerous smirk.

"Your acting is Oscar-worthy," Ethan murmured. He stepped closer. His chest brushed against the lapels of the jacket she wore. "Now, tell me. What lethal little toy were you hiding in your pocket?"