I looked up at the woman who had just kicked me.
She stood right beside Maria, chin raised, voice venomous.
"She told you to kneel and apologize. Are you deaf?"
I braced my hand against the ground and staggered back to my feet. When I glanced down, my white suit pants were smeared with dirt and blood.
The jeering didn't pause for even a second. If anything, it turned sharper, uglier.
The circle tightened around me. That same woman reached into her designer bag, pulled out a lipstick tube, and hurled it at me. The others followed her lead.
Wadded tissues, cups of coffee, loose coins. Anything they could throw, they threw.
"A cheap mistress who can't even show her face in polite company, and she actually thinks she's Rosalind Black? Threatening us!"
"Look at her in that little power suit, playing dress-up! All you're good at is seducing married men. Your kid's just like you. Both of you deserve every bit of this!"
The commotion drew a crowd of onlookers to the villa gates, phones raised, recording, snapping photos, whispering among themselves.
I lifted my hand and wiped the filth from my face. I straightened my jacket. Then I looked up, directly at Maria, who stood on the highest step.