Page 53 of The Birthday Girl
“Direct your questions to me.” Ezra’s voice rose over the crowd with conviction. “The woman standing there is Ms. Banks’s older sister. She carried on an affair with Mr. Lawson behind her sister’s back and bore his child. Her credibility is nonexistent. A woman willing to betray her own blood is capable of anything. For all we know, she may be the very reason Mr. Lawson has vanished.”
Danielle sobbed harder, clutching her stomach as if it would tear her open. “What about my friends? Mercedes, Tremaine, Jimmy—they’re all gone. Every last one of them! She murdered them, and she murdered Tyriq, too. She doesn’t deserve to breathe free air.”
Tahlia, flawless in her silence, didn’t so much as flinch. Her expression remained carved from stone, her hands steady at her sides. Tears no longer flowed down her cheeks, and rage bled through her eyes.
“These are baseless accusations from a bitter mistress who bore a child from a man who would never claim her in public. As I previously stated, Ms. Banks is innocent—” Ezra’s voice cracked like a gavel, but Danielle’s sobs drowned him out, feeding the cameras everything they needed.
Her outburst had been gasoline on the inferno. The clamor swelled until security lost control of the mob, and the lobby took on the trappings of a mob trial. The crowd surged forward, their camera lenses glinting like predatory eyes, each one hunting for the slightest crack in Tahlia's composure. News drones hovered above the shouting, cameras pivoting to catch the drama from every hungry angle.
In the midst, Ezra found himself physically shielding Tahlia, his heart thundering as he anticipated high explosives, emotional or literal, to strike any second.
Tahlia’s mind, however, was a monolith amid the tempest. Every instinct screamed at her to annihilate Danielle, to step forward with the facts that would cut the girl to ribbons. Instead, Tahlia let her face soften, only slightly, and blinked once, slowly, as if holding back the world’s most tragic tears.
She allowed the rawness of Danielle’s pain to frame her stillness, allowing herself to be, just for a moment, the second victim in Tyriq’s abrupt vanishing. She stood, shoulders squared, chin trembling, as the cameras gorged on the spectacle.She was the maligned woman stoic against the world, writhing with loss.
At that instant, every flashbulb and every cell-phone livestream was a weapon she turned deftly to her own advantage. Tahlia’s tears didn’t fall, but her eyes shone, luminous and unfathomable. The crowd caught it, and even those who wanted to jeer or hiss found themselves questioning, if only for an instant, if Tahlia was the true victim.
Heather hovered beside her, trying to calculate whether she should call for someone or simply dissolve into the wall. Ezra, still sweating, scanned the faces of the press, his hands fluttering at his coat buttons.
As the lobby devolved into a courtroom of public opinion, Tahlia’s internal calculations never stopped. The more Danielle wailed, the more pitiful and desperate she seemed. Soon, the audience would tire of her melodrama and crave a new twist.
In a day, a week at most, she would be a meme, her grief filtered through hashtags and soundbites, her wild-eyed accusations obsolete in the churn of outrage. What would remain was the image of Tahlia, persecuted but serene. Under siege but refusing to break.
Tahlia did not so much as shift her weight. She was permanence itself, a black hole in an expensive suit, devouring every accusation, never letting the photons escape. Years of broken promises, retracted affections, and whispered betrayals had welded her for this moment. However, she possessed a talent for suffering slander with a martyr's grace, and she weaponized it until it was time to make Danielle pay.
Half an hour later, Tahlia slid into the back seat of her custom limo, the soft Italian leather welcoming her like an old ally. She crossed one leg over the other, smoothing the hem of her skirt with deliberate precision. Outside, cameras flashed against the tinted glass, but in here, the world was quiet, her own curatedsilence. When the door shut, it wasn’t a seal of safety. It was a throne room, and she sat at the center of it, untouchable.
Her phone buzzed against her thigh, so she unclasped her clutch and pulled it out. When“Mom”flashed across the screen, her nostrils flared in anger. In Tahlia’s mind, Tisha wasn’t shit. Tisha was an envious bitch who birthed jealous bitches like Danielle.
The cameras had captured her sister's betrayal framed in high definition for the world to consume, and now Tahlia's hatred burned like acid through whatever familial bonds remained.
Tahlia answered the call with the same detachment she'd use to flick dirt from her Louboutins. “I don't recall giving you permission to contact me.”
“Don’t play with me, Tahlia. Where’s Tyriq? People are saying he’s missing, and I know you had something to do with it. Just like your sister tells me, you murdered Tremaine, Jimmy, and Mercedes.”
A smile tugged at Tahlia’s mouth, brittle and humorless. She leaned back, her head tilting against the headrest as though the whole conversation bored her. “If I did, none of it would be your concern.”
“You’ve always been a selfish girl,” Tisha snapped. “You’re ungrateful and never satisfied with what you have.”
Tahlia’s eyes narrowed, her tone cool as ice. “Tell me something, Mother. Did you tell Danielle to sleep with my man?”
The pause on the line was long enough to confirm what Tahlia already suspected, what Mercedes had confessed before she met her demise.
“What?” Tisha asked, playing dumb.
“You heard me,” Tahlia snapped. “But in case you didn’t, I asked, did you tell Danielle to spread her legs for my man?”
Tisha exhaled like the truth was a burden she had carried too long. “That man wasn’t yours, Tahlia. You didn’t need him, andyou sure didn’t appreciate him. So, yes, I told Danielle that if she wanted him, she could have him. At least she knew his worth.”
The words landed harder than a slap, and at that moment, Tahlia stopped seeing her parents as family. They weren’t guardians or protectors. They were traitors and enablers of betrayal.
The silence froze between them, quantum-cold, hostile, and immutable as Tahlia studied the black mirror of her phone screen, where her reflection displaced her mother’s voice.
“You miserable bitch,” Tahlia hissed, her voice low and venomous. “You’ve hated me since the day I was born. Now, every time you look at me, you see the woman you could never be. I know that has to hurt. Is that why you convinced Danielle to crawl into my bed? Does watching me hurt make you feel better about being nothing?”
“Watch your mouth,” Tisha snapped, the pitch of her voice sharpening. “You think you’re somebody, but you ain’t shit either. You destroy everything you touch. Men, money, even your own sister. You’ve never been good for anyone.”
Tahlia let the insults hang, her pulse steady in an almost terrifying way. “No, Mother. I’m excellent at destruction. That’s the difference. You birthed something you could never control, and now you’re consumed by jealousy. That’s why you spit my name with so much venom. Just know I’ll finish you like I finish everyone else who crosses me.”
