Chapter 1
1198words
"He's just a spoiled rich playboy, easy to handle."
"Catherine, girls like us who clawed our way out of the slums—what haven't we seen? Once I secure my position as the young mistress, I'll come back and show you the good life!"
I expected Bella would return triumphant, but I never imagined the family drama would spiral so violently out of control.
The so-called elite young mistress Bella was actually being trampled by an influencer with a face full of fillers, and had nearly lost her life several times.
That woman called Tiffany, just to film a TikTok video for entertainment, even forced eight-months-pregnant Bella to stand at a shooting range with an apple on her head as a living target.
I was so outraged that I took direct action, winning over Brandon's father, the Sterling family's previous patriarch—Arthur Sterling—within a month.
Just yesterday, Arthur suffered a fatal heart attack at the negotiating table.
I have become the mistress of this manor, respectfully addressed as "the Boss Lady" in underworld circles.
"God bless the madam…"
In the grand hall, family soldiers and advisors in black suits bowed their heads in respect to me in my mourning attire.
All except one person—Brandon's new favorite, Tiffany.
"Tiffany, since you've seen the mistress, why not pay your respects?"
Surrounded by elite family bodyguards, I walked slowly to the private shooting range in the back garden.
Tiffany chuckled, toying with a gold-plated Desert Eagle, lazily blowing smoke from the barrel before looking up to answer me.
"Brandon said that in this house, I'm exempt from all rules."
"Catherine, he meant ALL rules. Even for you, there are no exceptions."
I ignored her and walked directly to the center of the shooting range.
"Hey!" Tiffany's voice rose as she carelessly waved the gun. "What are you doing? That's MY practice range Brandon gave me!"
"Saving someone."
My voice wasn't loud, but it carried undeniable authority.
"Didn't you hear? Put Miss Bella down!" the security captain beside me barked harshly.
Several agile guards immediately rushed toward the oak tree.
The bitter winter wind cut through the air. Bella was bound tightly to the trunk with a precariously balanced apple on her head. Several bullets had grazed her cheeks and embedded in the trunk, sending splinters that left her face bloodied.
Her lips had turned purple with fear, her entire body shaking violently, her swollen belly looking particularly vulnerable under the gun's aim.
As soon as two bodyguards untied the ropes, her legs gave way and she nearly collapsed.
"Careful!" I commanded, rushing to support Bella. "Take her inside and call a doctor!"
"Mrs. Catherine," Tiffany sauntered over with exaggerated hip movements, gun still in hand, her tone petulant:
"What's the meaning of this? This is Brandon's shooting party, and Bella volunteered to be the target to atone for her sins. You're just ruining everyone's fun."
"Volunteered?"
I cut her off, turning to fix my gaze on her over-injected face:
"Tiffany, swear on the family crest and tell me—how does a woman eight months pregnant 'volunteer' to be tied to a tree as a living target for your shooting skills that are absolute garbage?"
Tiffany choked, then arched her eyebrows. "Bella is being sincere, wanting Brandon's forgiveness… and this is helping her build courage. Sterling women can't be cowards."
"I think you're just malicious—like a rat in the sewer."
My voice turned to ice.
Tiffany's expression darkened. "You! How dare you speak to me like that!"
"Young Master Brandon has returned!"
Someone shouted.
Brandon strode over, cigar between his fingers, followed by a gang of thugs in leather jackets. His gaze fell first on Tiffany.
Seeing she was unharmed, he turned to me with a frown. "Catherine, what madness are you up to now?"
Tiffany immediately rushed to him, tears appearing on command,
"Darling! I was just practicing my shooting when Madam Catherine arrived, had my weapon confiscated, and called me a rat!"
"I just wanted everyone to have fun. I didn't like that apple and asked Bella to hold it. What did I do wrong?!"
Brandon patted her hand soothingly while eyeing me with impatience:
"Catherine," he addressed me directly, "I run this house now. Tiffany is the future mistress, what's wrong with her practicing her shooting? Since Bella was already standing there, why interrupt and make us look foolish?"
I stared at him.
This was the bastard stepson who had lured my best friend away with promises of happiness, only to treat her like garbage.
He had simply grown tired of his toy.
"Brandon," I began slowly, "Bella is carrying your child. Pointing a loaded gun at her is attempted murder!"
Brandon frowned. "Father always said the Sterling family doesn't need cowards. Tiffany was helping her overcome fear."
"Overcome fear?"
I laughed, casually drawing an M1911 from a nearby bodyguard's holster.
The motion was fluid—too fast for anyone to track.
"Brandon, open your eyes and see for yourself—was that goodwill?"
I skillfully racked the slide, chambered a round, and flipped off the safety.
Brandon looked stunned. "You know how to handle a gun?"
I ignored him, raised my hand without bothering to aim.
"BANG!"
A gunshot cracked through the air.
The gold-plated gun in Tiffany's hand went flying, the impact sending shockwaves of pain through her wrist as she screamed and collapsed.
"Ahhh!! My hand!"
The entire gathering fell silent.
I blew smoke from my barrel, my gaze glacial.
"Brandon, you seem to have forgotten. Before Arthur brought me here, I grew up in Brooklyn's Thirteenth District—the most violent neighborhood in the city."
"I was eight when I learned to use a gun—to keep my alcoholic stepfather from beating me to death and to blow away any bastard who tried climbing into my bed."
"Arthur chose me not because I was pretty, but because my trigger finger was fast and my heart was cold."
I looked at Tiffany. "Since Miss Tiffany enjoys extreme challenges so much, why don't you take Bella's place right now? Stand with the apple on your head."
"Let everyone see what it truly means to overcome fear."
Tiffany's scream died in her throat.
Brandon's face darkened. "Catherine! What gives you the right to pull a gun? Tiffany isn't like those cheap women like Bella—how could she be subjected to such trauma?"
"So you do recognize that having a gun pointed at you is traumatic."
My tone remained calm. "But when it happens to Bella, it's not traumatic?"
"You…" Brandon sputtered, his face cycling between crimson and purple.
Tiffany quickly tugged at his sleeve, eyes brimming with tears. "Darling, I'm scared. Is Mrs. Catherine trying to kill me?"
Brandon took a deep breath, suppressing his anger. "Enough. This matter is closed. Take Bella back to the servants' quarters. Tiffany, let's return to our room—I have something special for you."
He put his arm around Tiffany and turned to leave.
"Brandon." I called after him.
He looked back.
I stared directly into his eyes, enunciating each word: "Today, if Bella develops any psychological trauma from this incident—"
"I swear on Arthur's spirit, I will enforce family law."
