Chapter 3
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Stan never thought the quiet, mousy Geneva he’d written off as a pushover would dare raise a hand to him. So when her palm cracked across his face with a stinging whap, he stood there, jaw slack, his brain stuck in a loading screen.
Before he could even flinch, another slap landed. Then a third. A fourth. A storm of smacks, each one pulsing with raw, psychic fury, hammered his face.
By the time she let up, his chiseled CEO looks were bloated into something one’d see in a funhouse mirror.
Geneva took a second to catch her breath, and Stan’s puffy, pig–faced glare zeroed in on her, his eyes dripping with venom.
“You damn woman, you’ve got the guts to touch me?” he snarled. If his face wasn’t a swollen disaster, the line might’ve had that slick, alpha–dog
swagger.
Instead, it landed like a drunk guy yelling at his own reflection.
Geneva didn’t blink. She swung again, her hand smacking his cheek with a crisp pop. “Shut it and keep that messed–up mug out of my face. It’s killing my vibe.”
From the sidelines, Tabitha–who’d been dodging the drama while others took her hits–finally piped up, her voice oozing fake horror. “Sis, what the hell? You can’t just go smacking Stan like he’s some punching bag!”
She clutched her chest like a soap opera queen, all wounded innocence. “I get it, you’re mad about Stan’s divorce deal. Fine. But can’t we just, like, talk it out? Why’re you so obsessed with his cash? Don’t tell me you married him just to bleed him dry!”
Tabitha’s brain was in overdrive. Back when Stan’s name was dirt–rumors swirling about him being some broken, monstrous creep–no one’d willingly sign up to be his wife.
The more she mulled it over, the more she was convinced Geneva was just a gold–digger chasing Stan’s bank account.
Big mistake running her mouth. Geneva spun on her, unloading a blistering slap that snapped Tabitha’s head to the side.
She staggered, hand flying to her cheek, eyes wide like she’d just been zapped by a taser. “Geneva, you slapped me?”
Geneva’s voice was cold as ice. “I married him to fix your screw–up, Tabitha. You don’t get to talk smack. Nobody does–least of all you.”
Another slap landed, sharp and ruthless. “And the minute I said ‘I do,‘ Stan was my husband. This one’s for you playing skanky side chick.”
Tabitha’s waterworks kicked on, tears streaming as she dialed up the damsel–in–distress act.
“I didn’t know he was Stan back then! How’s that on me?” she whimpered, her eyes begging for a sympathy vote.
Geneva wasn’t falling for it. Another siap cracked through the air, clean and brutal. “Oh, you know now, don’t you? Weird how you’re still hanging onto him like a cheap purse.”
Tabitha’s whole sob story–claiming she fell for Stan blind, then sticking around after the truth dropped–v
-was straight–up garbage.
She was the type who’d ditch her washed–up, bad–rep fiancé, cozy up to another guy, slide into home–wrecker territory, and still cry about being a saint.
She’d wreck her sister’s marriage, get her tossed in a nuthouse, and somehow still act like she deserved a medal. All while preaching her “pure soul”
nonsense,
Geneva raised her hand one last time, delivering a final, bone jarring slap. “This one’s for that little punk of yours–the one who sent thugs to grab me and take me out. i don’t hit kids, though. Bad mom, bad karma. So you’re eating this one.”
Tabitha shook her head, her face a splotchy, tear–soaked mess. “Geneva, I know you’ve got no love for me or Barclay, but he’s just a kid, damn it! How could you pin this on him? You’re gonna screw him up for life!”
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Chapter 3
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Scared stiff Geneva might haul off and smack her again, she cradled her cheeks, bawling harder. “Look, I’m the one who’s been a letdown, okay? But Barclay’s just a kid. Can you cut him some slack, please?”
Stan, Rocky, and Salena finally snapped out of their stupor. Stan surged forward, catching Tabitha as she wobbled.
“This is the daughter you brought up?” he barked at her folks. “She’s got the nerve to treat Tabitha like garbage right in my face. God only knows what she does when we ain’t around.”
Rocky and Salena shot Geneva looks that could kill. “You’re always dogging on Barclay, but blaming him for this? And beating the tar outta your own sister? You’re cold as ice!” Salena spat, rearing back to slap Geneva.
Geneva snatched Salena’s wrist mid–swing, shoving her hard enough to send her crashing to the floor.
For the sake of the body she’d inherited, she held back from going full throttle on her “parents.”
Salena gawked, floored. “You’d lay hands on your own mom?”
Stan’s voice was sharp enough to cut glass. “She’s lost it. Needs a one–way pass to the nut house. You two got a problem with that?” It wasn’t up for debate–it was happening.
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Rocky and Salena zipped their lips. They’d always figured Geneva was a few screws loose, and this freakout just proved it. Maybe the psych ward was her
best shot.
Tabitha, still sniffling like a kicked puppy, mumbled, “You can’t just cage her up like that…”
Stan gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, all honey and reassurance. “Easy, Tabitha. I’ll make sure she gets top–shelf doctors, the works.”
*Tabitha’s got a heart of gold, still trying to save Geneva after all that crap she
pulled,‘ he
thought.
She gave a small nod, swallowing Stan’s line. Geneva looked like she’d gone off the deep end–maybe the hospital was the only way to help her.
Her thoughts drifted to Harrison. He was a shrink. She’d get him to take a look at Geneva. That’d let her sleep at night.
She thought she’d done her bit–now it was on Geneva to pull herself together.
Geneva didn’t put up a fight as the hospital orderlies dragged her off.
Her mind was already miles away, zeroed in on the real sleaze: Harrison Fox, the lowlife who’d caused the original Geneva’s death. Time to pay that scumbag a visit, and she wasn’t planning on playing nice.
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12:20 Thu, 22 May G GE
Chapter 4
Chapter 4
