When I shared my pregnancy news with my MIL, she threw me from the restaurant terrace, but then…
I never imagined that one phone call could change the entire course of my life.
FALLING FROM HEAVEN: THE WILL OF BLOOD AND DEATH
Chapter 1: Dinner on the Top of Manhattan
The December wind whistled through the narrow gaps of Manhattan’s skyscrapers, but on the rooftop of The Zenith restaurant—New York’s most expensive establishment—the air was warmed by artificial flames and the aroma of Burgundy wine.
I, Elara Vance, sat opposite my mother-in-law, Victoria Thorne. She was the most powerful woman in American finance, the one who ran the Thorne shipping empire with an iron fist. Victoria always appeared in bespoke Chanel outfits, her silver hair meticulously styled, and her deep blue eyes as cold as the ice at the bottom of the ocean.
“I have something important to tell you, Mother,” I whispered, my hand gripping my handbag, which held the test results I’d received that morning.
Victoria took a sip of wine, her thin lips curving into a cold, emotionless smile. “I hope it’s news that you’re divorcing Julian. He deserves a woman of our class, not the daughter of a mechanic in Ohio.”
I took a deep breath. “I’m pregnant, Mother. Julian and I are going to have a child.”
The crystal glass in Victoria’s hand froze in mid-air. The space around us seemed to solidify. I expected her to be stunned, or at least maintain some semblance of politeness. But no.
Her gaze shifted from cold to a terrifying cruelty.
“Never,” she whispered, her voice so low it sent shivers down my spine. “Your low-class blood will never be allowed to touch the Thorne estate.”
Chapter 2: The Terrifying Push
“What did you say, Mother?” I stood up, stunned.
Victoria rose as well. She stepped closer to me, leaning her hand on the glass railing of the 50th-floor rooftop terrace. Behind me was the abyss of city lights, where the yellow taxis looked like tiny ants.
“Julian always listens to his mother,” Victoria said, her footsteps pressing against me, forcing me to step back against the edge of the railing. “He agreed to get rid of you a long time ago. But this pregnancy… it’s a variable that can’t exist.”
Before I could react, Victoria reached out. With an unbelievable strength for a woman in her 60s, she pushed hard on my shoulder.
I lost my balance. My center of gravity plummeted backward.
“Mother!” I screamed, but my cry was swallowed by the howling wind.
I fell. The terrifying shock made my heart stop. The last image I saw was Victoria’s calm face looking down from the top of the tower, as if she had just brushed a speck of dust off her coat.
I closed my eyes, waiting for death.
Chapter 3: The Miracle of Glass and Steel
But then…
Fate didn’t end there.
Instead of falling straight down onto the street 200 meters away, my body slammed into a glass and steel screen of an outdoor bar on the 48th floor – a structure jutting out to create a viewing platform.
Smash!
The tempered glass shattered, significantly reducing the impact but sending thousands of shards into my body. I lay slumped on the steel scaffolding, in so much pain I could barely breathe, blood from the cuts soaking my white dress.
“Someone fell! Someone fell on the 48th floor!” The faint shouts of the service staff echoed.
I drifted into unconsciousness amidst the distant wails of ambulance sirens, with only one thought remaining in my mind: My child. My child must live.
Chapter 4: Waking Up in the Darkness
I woke up three days later at Presbyterian Hospital. My whole body ached, and one leg was wrapped in a thick white bandage.
The door to my hospital room opened. It wasn’t Julian. It was a New York City police officer.
“Ms. Vance, Victoria Thorne claims you attempted suicide due to depression after learning you were pregnant,” the detective said, his face full of suspicion. “They say you drank heavily before jumping.”
“That’s a lie!” I whispered through my oxygen mask. “She pushed me.”
The detective sighed, handing me a file. “The rooftop camera that night was mysteriously malfunctioning. And Julian… your husband… confirmed his mother’s testimony. He said you’ve had signs of mental instability for a long time.”
My heart truly broke at that moment. It wasn’t the fall that killed me, but Julian’s betrayal. He knew his mother was a murderer, but he chose money and status over me and our unborn child.
“My child… how is the baby?” I asked, my voice trembling.
“Miraculously, the baby is fine,” the detective replied. “But Ms. Vance, without evidence, Victoria will soon gain custody of the child as soon as it’s born on the grounds that you are ‘mentally incompetent’.”
Chapter 5: The Fateful Phone Call
I lay there, desperate and alone. I had no money, no allies, and my enemy was the one who controlled this entire city.
On Wednesday night, my personal phone – the one the nurse had found in the rubble – suddenly rang. An unknown number, completely unidentified.
I pressed the answer button.
“Elara?” A deep, authoritative male voice.
A strange, unfamiliar voice rang out. “I am Arthur Sterling.”
I froze. Arthur Sterling? That was the Thorne family’s arch-rival, the mysterious man who had vanished from the financial world ten years ago after a scandal orchestrated by… Victoria Thorne.
“I know what happened on that rooftop,” Arthur said. “And I know why Victoria wants you dead so badly.”
“Why?” I asked, my throat dry.
“Because you’re not the daughter of an Ohio mechanic, Elara. Your father was my partner, murdered by Victoria to seize the merger plan ten years ago. You are the sole legitimate heir to the 40% stake in Thorne Corporation that your father secretly deposited in a secret trust. If you have a child, that control will automatically activate.”
I held my breath. The pieces began to fall into place. Victoria didn’t just hate my background; she feared me. She wanted me dead so that those shares would be permanently frozen or fall into Julian’s hands.
“I have proof, Elara,” Arthur continued. “I’ve waited ten years to see Victoria fall. Do you want to put an end to this?”
Chapter 6: The Counterattack Plan
Under the close protection of the security team sent by Arthur Sterling, I was transferred to a secret base. For the next six months, the world believed Elara Vance had died from complications of her injuries. Victoria and Julian began celebrating their “victory” with a merger announcement party at The Zenith restaurant.
That night, Victoria stood on the rooftop, champagne glass in hand, preparing to sign the fateful contract. Julian stood beside her, still looking polished but with a vacant look in his eyes.
“Today, the Thorne empire will become eternal,” Victoria declared to the crowd of journalists.
Just then, all the large screens in the party went off, then lit up again with a video. Not the restaurant’s security cameras, but footage from a drone that Arthur had controlled that night to monitor Victoria.
The video was incredibly sharp: Victoria pushing me, my screams, and her cruel face clearly visible under the lights.
The entire hall was horrified. Victoria turned pale, the glass of wine in her hand fell to the floor, shattering just like that day.
The terrace doors burst open. I stepped out, no longer the weak Ohio girl, but a strong woman in a sophisticated black suit, my pregnant belly clearly visible. Beside me was Arthur Sterling and a team of federal lawyers.
Chapter 7: The Fall of the Empire
“Did you think I was dead, Victoria?” my voice boomed through the loudspeakers.
Julian trembled, trying to approach me, but the FBI agents stopped him.
“Victoria Thorne, you are arrested for premeditated murder and illegal appropriation of property,” the detective from that night stepped out, holding the official arrest warrant. “And Julian Thorne, you are arrested as an accomplice in concealing a crime.”
Victoria looked at me, her eyes showing the first sign of extreme fear. “You can’t… you have nothing!”
“I have the truth, ma’am,” I stepped closer, whispering in her ear. “And I have this child – the true owner of the Thorne empire from today.”
Victoria was led away in humiliation amidst the flashing lights of hundreds of cameras. Julian collapsed to the floor, weeping and pleading, but I didn’t even glance at him.
Chapter 8: A New Dawn
A month later, I stood on the balcony of my new apartment overlooking Central Park. Arthur Sterling stood beside me; we had just signed the agreement to restore my father’s honor.
My phone rang again. This time it was a message from the hospital: A routine check-up for the baby. All the indicators were perfect.
I smiled, a smile of true freedom. The call from Arthur Sterling not only saved my life, it awakened a warrior within me.
The Thorne Empire now bore a new name, a new soul. And when my child was born, it would grow up in a world where truth and love were more precious than any skyscraper in Manhattan.
I never imagined that a phone call could change my entire life. But now, looking down at the dazzling New York City, I knew I was no longer afraid of heights. Because I had learned to fly from that very fall.
💡 Lesson from the story
Power and money can build the tallest towers, but lies will always create cracks in the foundation. Never underestimate the power of a woman who has nothing left to lose, and always remember that karma may not come immediately, but it will always find its way to the top of the tallest tower to claim justice.
She screamed “THIEF!” and slapped me so hard the entire store went silent. Phones were recording. People were whispering. She laughed, thinking I was poor and defenseless. She didn’t know she had just assaulted the wife of the man who owned the boutique—meaning she had just slapped her employer’s BOSS. What happened next shattered her career…
The tempered glass doors of the L’Éclat flagship store on Rodeo Drive swung open, blasting a blast of cool air from the air conditioner and the scent of expensive White Tea perfume into my face.
I, Sarah Vance, pulled my baseball cap down slightly. Today was a rare day off after a long series of merger negotiations. I wore Lululemon yoga leggings, my old sneakers, and my husband’s oversized hoodie. I didn’t look like a powerful woman. I looked like an exhausted stay-at-home mom who had sneaked away for coffee.
And that’s exactly how I wanted to appear.
L’Éclat is the high-end jewelry and accessories brand that my husband, Michael, acquired six months ago. Recently, financial reports showed a drop in sales at the Beverly Hills branch, accompanied by numerous complaints about staff behavior. Michael was busy in New York, so I – as co-owner and CFO of the parent company – decided to conduct an “undercover inspection.”
I strolled around the handbag display. $20,000 worth of alligator bags sat silently under the warm yellow lights.
“Don’t touch that unless you intend to buy it.”
A cold voice rang out behind me.
I turned around. Standing before me was a tall, impeccably made-up woman in a finely tailored black suit. Her name tag read: Tiffany – Store Manager.
Tiffany scrutinized me from head to toe. Her gaze lingered on my slightly muddy sneakers (from accidentally stepping in a puddle in the parking lot) and my faded hoodie. A contemptuous smirk appeared on her heavily fillerd face.
“Excuse me,” I said softly. “I was just looking…”
“This area is for VIPs,” Tiffany interrupted, crossing her arms. “The discount section is at the end of the street; perhaps the Ross Dress for Less would suit you better.”
I narrowed my eyes. Is this how she treats customers?
“I’m looking for a souvenir,” I continued patiently, my hand still resting on the limited edition handbag. “I want to see this one.”
“I said NO,” Tiffany stepped forward, snatching the bag from my grasp as if I were a bacterium clinging to it. “Where’s security? Why are you letting these vagrants into the store?”
Two large security guards approached. The atmosphere became tense. Other customers – ladies in oversized sunglasses and carrying Hermes bags – began to stare and whisper.
“I’m not a vagrant,” I said, my voice sharp. “And your attitude is a serious violation of L’Éclat’s code of conduct.”
Tiffany laughed. A bitter and arrogant laugh.
“You’re going to lecture me about rules? Do you know how much this bag costs? It’s five years’ rent for you. Get out of here before I call the police.”
I took a deep breath. I pulled out my phone. I wasn’t going to call Michael right away. I turned on the recording. I wanted concrete evidence of this discriminatory behavior to legally fire her.
“What are you doing?” Tiffany hissed when she saw me raise my phone.
“Recording evidence,” I said. “Of your refusal to serve customers based on appearance.”
Tiffany’s face flushed. Anger – or perhaps fear of being exposed on social media – had caused her to lose control.
“You pathetic bitch! Are you trying to blackmail me?”
She lunged forward.
I instinctively recoiled, my hand hitting a crystal perfume display shelf. Crash! A bottle of perfume fell and shattered.
“Aha!” Tiffany shrieked, her eyes shining like she’d struck gold. “You were trying to steal perfume! I saw you put it in your jacket pocket!”
“What? Are you crazy? It fell to the ground!”
“THIEF! EVERYONE! CATCH THE THIEF!”
Tiffany yelled, her voice echoing through the upscale store. She lunged at me, grabbing the collar of my hoodie.
And then, in a frenzy of wanting to show off her power in front of the staff and customers, Tiffany swung her arm.
SLAP!
A powerful slap landed on my left cheek. So hard I staggered, my phone almost slipping from my hand. My cheeks burned, my ears buzzed.
The entire store fell silent.
The soothing classical music seemed to have died down. All eyes were on us.
Tiffany stood there, breathing heavily, her hand still raised, a triumphant smile on her lips. She looked around, as if waiting for applause for “protecting” the store from a thief.
“See?” Tiffany shouted to the crowd. “Don’t try anything here. I taught you a lesson.”
She laughed, thinking I was poor, alone, and defenseless. She thought at most I would just cry and run away.
But she was wrong.
I didn’t cry.
I slowly straightened up. I wiped the small trickle of blood from the corner of my mouth. I checked my phone. It was still recording.
“You just slapped me,” I said, my voice eerily calm.
“So what? I’m cracking down on crime,” Tiffany said arrogantly. “The police are coming. Get ready to go to jail.”
“Okay,” I nodded. “Just wait for the police.”
Chief of Staff
Ten minutes later, two Beverly Hills police officers walked in. Tiffany rushed to greet them, playing the role of the obedient manager being harassed.
“Officer! She tried to steal my perfume and my handbag! She even assaulted me first! I was only defending myself!”
The officer looked at me—the disheveled woman with one swollen red cheek—then at the elegant Tiffany. Social prejudice began to creep in.
“Madam, please show me your identification,” the officer said, his hand resting lightly on his gun holster.
“I will,” I said. “But first, I want to make a call to my lawyer. And to the owner of this store.”
Tiffany scoffed. “The owner? Do you think you can get through to Michael Vance? He’s in New York, and he doesn’t talk to people like you.”
I didn’t answer. I dialed speed dial 1.
Three rings.
“Hello, I’m listening, Sarah,” Michael’s warm voice came through the speakerphone. “How was your shopping? Did you find any errors at the branch?”
I turned the speakerphone up to full volume.
“Michael,” I said, looking directly at Tiffany. “I’m at L’Éclat Beverly Hills. I just found a huge error.”
“What error, my love?”
“The store manager, Tiffany, just slapped me in the face in front of 20 customers and 2 police officers. She also falsely accused me of shoplifting.”
There was a moment of silence on the other end. A terrifying silence.
“What did she do?” Michael’s voice deepened, filled with suppressed rage. “She slapped my WIFE? Slapped the CEO of the corporation?”
Tiffany’s face turned pale. Her face, flushed with excitement, turned deathly pale. She looked at the phone in my hand, then at me.
“Wife… Chief Financial Officer…?” Tiffany stammered.
“Michael,” I continued. “I have it on speakerphone. Do you want to say anything to your ‘outstanding employee’?”
“Give it to her,” Michael ordered.
I handed the phone to Tiffany. Her hands trembled so much she couldn’t hold it; I had to hold it for her.
“Tiffany?” Michael’s voice boomed.
“Yes… yes… Mr. Vance…” Tiffany mumbled, sweating profusely. “I… I didn’t know… She was dressed… I thought…”
“You thought my wife was poor, so you had the right to hit her?” Michael yelled. “Listen carefully. You’re fired. Immediately. And don’t even think about leaving. I’m calling the Legal Director and the Los Angeles Police Chief. You won’t just lose your job. You’ll be prosecuted to the fullest extent.”
Michael hung up.
Tiffany collapsed to the floor.
The police officer looked at me, his attitude changing 180 degrees. “Ms. Vance… I apologize for the misunderstanding. Do you wish to file charges?”
“Yes,” I said, pointing to the security camera in the corner of the ceiling. “Get the footage immediately. I want to file charges of assault and battery and defamation.”
I turned to look at Tiffany, who was crying at my feet.
“You just said I didn’t belong here, didn’t you, Tiffany?” I leaned down and whispered. “You’re right. I don’t belong here as a customer. I’m the owner. And now, the one who doesn’t belong here anymore… is you.”
The incident didn’t end there.
The audio and video recordings from the security camera (which I had requested the IT department send directly to my phone at the time) were leaked onto social media that evening.
Title: “Luxury store manager slaps CEO’s wife for mistaking her for a poor person.”
The video went viral at lightning speed. Millions of views. Thousands of outraged comments.
Tiffany’s price to pay:
Legally: With irrefutable evidence and the top legal team of the Vance Group, Tiffany was sentenced to 6 months of probation, 200 hours of community service, and mandatory anger management training. Her record is permanently tainted with the “Violence” stigma.
Financially: I sued her in civil court for emotional and defamation damages. The court ruled she had to pay $50,000 in damages. She had to sell her car and drain all her savings to pay it.
Career: This was the most painful blow. In high-end retail, reputation is everything. No brand – from Gucci and Prada to Zara – dared hire a manager who had slapped a customer (the boss’s wife, no less) and was boycotted nationwide. Tiffany was put on the retail industry’s “Blacklist.”
The last time I heard from Tiffany, she was working the night shift at a suburban auto insurance company, a place where no one ever saw her face.
A month later.
I returned to L’Éclat Beverly Hills. This time, I wore a smart business suit.
The staff lined up to greet me. They weren’t afraid, but they were respectful. I completely changed the training process, emphasizing equality and respect for customers regardless of appearance. Store sales skyrocketed because customers felt welcome.
I walked past the handbag display where I’d been slapped. The bloodstain on the floor had been wiped clean, but the lesson remained.
I looked in the mirror, lightly touching my cheek.
Tiffany was right about one thing: She’d taught me a lesson. A lesson about power. Power isn’t about the clothes on your head.
Expensive money or managerial title. True power lies in composure and the ability to turn the tables when your opponent thinks they’ve won.
She slapped me.
And I slapped her back with the rest of her life.
