Chapter 2 - THE CRUELTY OF THE ELITEThe shrill, venomous shriek of Regina Alcocer cut through the air of the Grand Ballroom like a jagged piece of glass, shattering the artificial tranquility of the night.
In an instant, the gentle, hypnotic notes of the string quartet grindingly faded. The low, polite hum of three hundred of Mexico City's most powerful people evaporated, replaced by a suffocating, breathless silence. All eyes turned like synchronized clockwork toward the epicenter of the commotion.
Regina stood rigid, her breath coming in ragged, furious gasps. She looked down at her custom-tailored, white Italian silk dress. A sprawling, violent crimson stain—resembling a spreading pool of blood—was rapidly saturating the expensive fabric right across her chest.
"Look at this! Do you have any idea how much this cost?!" Regina shrieked again, her voice escalating into a hysterical pitch. Her face was twisted into a mask of pure, unadulterated malice. She didn't just look angry; she looked like a predator denied its kill, ready to rip apart the nearest living thing.
The elderly woman in the outdated navy-blue velvet dress shrank back, folding inward as if she wished the very floor would open up and swallow her whole. Her frail hands clutched her small green beaded purse so tightly that her knuckles turned a stark, chalky white. Tears welled instantly in her dim, watery eyes, spilling over her deeply wrinkled cheeks.
"I... I am so sorry..." the old woman choked out, her voice barely a tremulous whisper. "I lost my balance... The room was spinning..."
"Spinning? You dizzy old beggar!" Regina snapped, stepping forward and invading the elderly woman's personal space with aggressive intimidation. "People like you don't even belong in a building like this! Security! SECURITY!"
The wealthy bystanders didn't rush forward to help or defuse the tension. Instead, they leaned backward, whispering behind manicured hands and glittering diamond rings. Cruel, mocking smirks played on the lips of powerful real estate tycoons and famous television hosts alike. To them, this wasn't a tragedy; it was live-action entertainment, a vulgar floor show to pass the time before dessert.
"Throw her out into the street!" shouted a bloated senator from the corner, laughing dryly. "She probably wandered in looking for handouts from the garbage cans outside!"
Mariana Rivas felt the heavy silver tray in her hands begin to tremble. Her burning, blistered feet throbbed in her tight, borrowed shoes, but she barely felt the physical pain anymore. A cold, furious fire was igniting deep inside her chest. She looked at Regina’s sneering, arrogant face, and then down at the terrified old woman who looked shockingly like her own late grandmother.
She's old, she's defenseless, and she's completely alone, Mariana thought, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. And these monsters are treating her like garbage.
Before Mariana could even process the impulse, two massive, barrel-chested private security guards in sleek black suits materialized from the shadows. Their faces were carved from granite, devoid of any human empathy. They grabbed the elderly woman roughly by her frail arms, their heavy grips biting mercilessly into her fragile flesh.
"Let go of her! You're hurting her!" Mariana heard herself cry out.
The words slipped past her lips before she could stop them. In the rigid hierarchy of the Polanco elite, a catering server did not speak. A catering server was a piece of furniture, a ghost that moved trays in absolute silence.
The entire ballroom collectively gasped at the unprecedented breach of protocol. Heads snapped toward Mariana in sheer disbelief.
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Regina Alcocer whipped around, her cold, venomous eyes narrowing as they locked onto the young woman in the cheap, ill-fitting uniform. A slow, cruel smile curled the corners of Regina’s painted lips.
"Well, well, well," Regina purred, her voice dripping with venom as she glided slowly toward Mariana. "It looks like the hired help doesn't know her place either. Tell me, little girl... do you want to pay for my dress?"
