I clenched my teeth, looked up at Brent, and forced the words out through the shaking.
"I was wr—"
He cut me off before I could finish.
"You want to apologize?! Too late!"
His eyes were vicious.
"Maya, I let you run wild for eight years. Today I'm putting you back in your place."
He glanced behind him. Dozens of water guns swung toward me in unison.
The jets hit all at once, slamming into my face and body like whips.
The blast knocked me flat.
Brent grabbed Gloria's hand, aimed the water gun she was holding straight at my face, and water hammered up into my nose and ears, a vicious burning sting that set everything on fire at once.
I tried to get up, but the pressure blurred my vision completely.
I didn't even have the strength to lift my head. All I could do was lie there while the freezing jets slammed into me, every impact tearing through me under all that force.
Gloria watched me floundering and let out peal after peal of shrill laughter.
The moment she started laughing, Brent finally stopped.
He wrapped an arm around Gloria's waist, his voice going so soft it was nauseating.
"Happy now, Gloria?"
"When have I ever not been happy with what you do for me..."
Her coy little whine drew a smug laugh out of Brent,
but before the sound even faded,
Gloria's expression crumpled into wounded innocence.
"But..."
Brent's smile vanished instantly.
"But what?"
"Don't be scared, Gloria. I'm right here. Tell me what's wrong."
Gloria clasped the hand he had on her waist, stroking the back of it over and over, her voice sweet and helpless.
"My clothes got soaked because of her just now... I'm so cold..."
"That's nothing. I'll take you to the mall right now and buy you something new."
"No."
Gloria pointed at me, tugging Brent's arm with a little shake.
"I want the one she's wearing. Right now."
"Absolutely not!"
I cut straight through her wheedling.
This gown was the Pruitt family's heirloom, passed down with the leadership of the branch.
The family regarded it the same way they regarded the family's honor itself.
And this one, the one on my body, my late mother had altered stitch by stitch to fit me.
My father had preserved it with painstaking care for twenty years, waiting for the day I took over the Pruitt branch in Monterra City and finally put it on.
I clutched my shoulders and staggered to my feet,
shaking uncontrollably from the icy cold soaking through every layer.