Killer. Beauty. Queen

Chapter 4: Part two: Imperfection shows its ugly face

Amidst the post-award mingle, Adrian found himself in the midst of a lively discussion with some influential personalities. Tom King, Scarlett's estranged stepbrother, was a figure he needed to navigate carefully. They exchanged greetings, and Adrian decided to keep the conversation light.

"Tom, it's been too long," Adrian said, offering a friendly smile and a playful pat on the shoulder. "How have you been?"

Tom, wearing an impeccably tailored suit, chuckled lightly. "Oh, the usual political tango. Trying to keep up with the ever-changing music. And you, Adrian? The lawyer of the year—is it a sign of a future in politics?"

Adrian shrugged modestly. "One never knows, Tom. Law and politics often waltz together. Speaking of which, how's your campaign coming along?"

"It's a whirlwind, but one I thrive in," Tom responded confidently. "You know, Adrian, Politics is a dirty game. Not your speed."

Adrian leaned in slightly, a sly smile playing on his lips. "Who said I don't play dirty?" he quipped, letting a touch of intrigue color his tone.

Tom raised an eyebrow, surprised by Adrian's response, then laughed. "Well, color me intrigued. You might not be who I thought you were. Let's keep the dialogue open, shall we? Perhaps we could collaborate sometime?"

Adrian nodded, though the thought made him tread cautiously. "Collaboration could indeed be an interesting venture. It's all about finding the right rhythm, isn't it?"

As the conversation flowed, a senator joined the group, adding to the political banter. Adrian was taken aback when an old man in the black tuxedo, abruptly pulled him away from the conversation. It was Senator King, Scarlett's billionaire father. The air suddenly felt heavy with an unspoken urgency as Senator King leaned in and whispered, "Is the problem taken care of?"

Before Adrian could respond, Scarlett's commanding voice thundered from behind. "What problem?" Mr. King's demeanor shifted, and he waved away his daughter's inquiry dismissively. "Nothing you need to be worried about, daughter," he muttered cryptically.

But Mr. King wasn't finished. In a hushed tone, he turned his attention back to Scarlett, his right eyebrow arching to a curious angle. "What you should be worried about is children. Don't you think it's about time? Although Kira is an awesome girl, she's not your biological child. Don't forget that."

Mr. King's fixation on Scarlett's future children was indeed a peculiar quirk that everyone had noticed. It was as if he had a mental tally of hypothetical grandchildren, and any opportunity to bring up the topic was fair game.

"Scarlett, look how many chicks that hen had. Six. You have zero," he'd say, using even the family farmyard as a platform to broach the subject.

The obsession didn't end there. Even fashion became a gateway for Mr. King to steer the conversation toward the inevitable. "That gown you're wearing is too short. It's more appropriate for a child, but you have none," he'd comment, seamlessly connecting a dress length to Scarlett's future as a parent.

It had become a running joke among the family, albeit a slightly uncomfortable one for Scarlett.

While cooking a family recipe together, Mr. King commented, "These recipes should be passed on to the next generation. Speaking of generations, when will I get to teach your child?"

Admiring a family of rabbits in the garden. Mr. King chimed in, "Look at those little ones. Nature keeps reproducing. Unlike you, Scarlett."

In times long past, society frequently pointed fingers at the woman when a marriage remained childless, often unfairly placing blame on her instead of considering the man's role in the matter. The unspoken assumptions and societal expectations burdened women, leading to misconceptions about their ability to bear children. Unfortunately, the "times long past" was still here as Mr king pointed fingers at his own daughter.

While the revelers at the fancy award show raised their glasses to toast to life, families outside huddled together for warmth, their faces etched with the lines of worry and despair. Champagne flowed, laughter echoed, while just beyond the gates of the hotel, the struggling masses remained unseen and unheard.

After the event was concluded, The entire Blackwood family sauntered through the towering front doors of their house. Scratch that. A damn gigantic mansion. Kira, tired from all the pretense of the day, dived straight into her extravagant bedroom to get her beauty sleep. Rooms branched off in every direction, each holding its own story, its own mystery. Hallways seemed to wind endlessly, veering into unexpected alcoves and concealed rooms—a hidden study, a forgotten chamber, or perhaps a concealed passage to who knew where. This mansion was more than bricks and mortar; it was a living, breathing mystery. It hid secrets within its walls, waiting for the curious souls who dared to unveil the mysteries held within its majestic embrace.

The air crackled with tension, a charged atmosphere that hung between them. Adrian pressed Scarlett's delicate form against the cool ceramic wall with a swift but gentle urgency. He leaned in for a kiss. It was long and not particularly playful. Adrian's hands held Scarlett with a possessiveness that betrayed his primal desire.

"Let's finish what we started in the morning."

But Scarlett, never one to be easily swayed, responded with a well-placed elbow jab. "Stop it," she commanded, her voice firm and resolute, a declaration of her boundaries. They grappled with a love both fierce and untamed, tempered by the limits they had set for themselves.

He leaned over, his arrogance seeping through his smirk, and nipped at Scarlett's chin teasingly. "I was so good to you today. Shouldn't you offer a little 'thank you' gesture?" he goaded, his laughter laced with a villainous tone.

Scarlett's eyes flared with a mix of anger and hatred, a storm brewing beneath her usually composed exterior. "I clean up your mess and cover up every one of your screw-ups," she shot back, her voice sharp and laced with frustration. "You should be thanking me."

Adrian reveled in the confrontation, finding pleasure in pushing Scarlett's buttons. He had always enjoyed the game of cat and mouse, and he was a master at it. But Scarlett was no ordinary mouse—she was a lioness, fierce and unyielding, defending her territory with every ounce of her being.

"What was my dad whispering to you tonight. What shady shit are you two hiding this time?" She questioned.

"None of your damn business. Know your place, Scarlett."

A few hours ago, they were like the perfect couple of a rom com. But now, in the dimly lit aftermath of the evening, the facade had crumbled. The masks they wore for the world slipped away. Now, they seemed straight out of a horror movie. They didn't have to play pretend when no one was watching. The night was over, so was her affection for him.

As they prepared to retreat to their separate bedrooms, the air thick with the remnants of their earlier confrontation, Scarlett's phone ring shattered the silence. Her face turned pale as she listened, her mouth ajar, unable to believe the words that pierced through the receiver.

"Someone was murdered at the hotel," she whispered.