Chapter 3: The Digital Execution
The private media screening room on the mansion's lower level smelled of old leather and tension. A massive 4K screen dominated the front wall. In the center of the plush leather seating row sat Christian, his hands clasped tightly together, his eyes fixed on the blank display. To his left sat Camilla, her arm bandaged by the estate medic, staring blankly ahead. Standing near the door, trembling like a leaf in a hurricane, was Jessica, flanked by two of Christian’s silent, towering security guards.
"Play it from ten minutes before I arrived," Christian instructed, his voice devoid of all human warmth.
The screen flickered to life. The high-definition audio and video captured the kitchen in crystal clarity.
On screen, Jessica’s face—distorted by a terrifying, twisted expression of pure malice—was shown violently shoving the elderly mother’s wheelchair toward the sharp edge of the marble island. The mother screamed. In the next frame, Camilla threw herself across the kitchen tile, wedging her own body between the heavy wheelchair and the counter, taking the full brunt of the impact and crashing into the cabinets, sustaining the bruises and cuts currently visible on her skin.
Then, the audio recorded Jessica’s lightning-fast shift in demeanor. The moment she heard Christian’s car door slam outside, she deliberately ripped her own hair, threw a vase to the floor, smeared dirt on her clothes, and fell to her knees, screaming for help just as Christian opened the front door.
The video ended. The screen went black.
The silence in the room was absolute, heavy, and suffocating.
Jessica collapsed onto the carpet, bursting into hysterical, desperate sobs. She crawled forward on her knees, desperately reaching out to grab the hem of Christian’s trousers. "Christian! Please! I was stressed! I didn't mean it! The pressure of the family, the expectations—it made me crazy! Please, don't do this!"
Christian stood up, stepping away from her touch as if her skin were infected with a plague. He looked down at her with a gaze so glacial it could have frozen fire.
"Stress," Christian repeated, tasting the word like poison. "You tried to kill my mother. You framed an innocent woman who risked her life to protect an elderly lady. And you lied to my face with tears you rehearsed in front of a mirror."
He turned to the head of security. "Vance. Call the district attorney. Hand over the unedited original drive directly to the prosecutor's office. Ensure all prenuptial asset clauses are instantly triggered for extreme malfeasance and attempted harm."
"No! You can't do this to me! I'm your wife!" Jessica shrieked, her voice morphing into a demonic screech as the guards hauled her up by her arms, dragging her screaming toward the heavy oak doors. "You'll ruin me! You'll pay for this, Christian! You hear me?!"
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The doors slammed shut, cutting off her desperate cries.
Christian exhaled slowly, rubbing the bridge of his nose as the exhaustion of a shattered world finally caught up to him. He turned his head slowly to look at Camilla.
