Linda Williams had been called many things over the years – some names less flattering than others. That she was a talented actress on stage and screen, no one denied. Whether or not she had any redeeming qualities had been up for debate since her first real debut in an independent film when she was twenty-seven. It had been a weird little film student bit of trash; an experimental version of Macbeth using a blend of contemporary and classic themes. Her performance was widely regarded as the only worthwhile part of the film.
Her performance during the screening party, when she had thrown a full glass of champagne into an overly zealous fan's face was likewise considered the most memorable part of the film's very limited release. Linda Williams, it was agreed, had the singular talent of making pissed off look desirable as hell.
She was beautiful to begin with, but the paparazzi's cameras fell in love with the way her pink lips curled to the left in scorn whenever she was irritated. The way her soft ivory cheeks flushed a shade just barely darker than her lips whenever she was displeased – a frequent occurrence. The tabloid photos made love to her narrowed green eyes flashing in rage at an insufficiently glamourous venue for a new film.
She wasn't very tall – only about 5'4 in heels, but whenever she stalked into a room, she commanded attention. She would have been on the list of most desired bachelorettes, but there was one problem; Linda Williams was already married. Had been for almost nine years in fact. With a small child, no less.
At age nineteen, Linda Veltis had fallen for a Robert Williams, a man nearly ten years her senior. While later magazines would speculate that she married him for the financial stability he offered, the truth was much more boring and something Linda swore she would never admit after the divorce. She had loved Robert, had loved the home life they built together, and deeply adored their small daughter, Sarah.
Linda did admit long after the divorce had settled, after Robert had remarried to the plainest, most boring slice of white bread he could find, that she had been too young for the life she tried to build with him. Too young for motherhood. She had had Sarah when she was twenty. She had seven years of motherhood before she really became successful. Seven short, blissful, little years.
And then Robert had divorced her and convinced the judge to grant him solo custody of the most beautiful thing she had ever created.
Linda stared into the mirror above her Italian marble sink. Imported high-end cosmetics and the occasional surgery had minimized the damage of years, but there was no hiding the fact that the face staring back at her was sixty-five years old. She still comported herself with stateliness, and she would always be a handsome woman, but she was old. And her daughter was dead.
She gripped the edges of her sink until her knuckles turned white. Her green eyes burned against the crystal mirror. Robert's son, Tobias had successfully wrested control of her baby's life from her and murdered her. Pulled her off of life support as easily as he might unplug his television. Then the little bastard had the gall to call her selfish and uncaring.
With effort she released the sink and set about smoothing her dark hair. She had given up coloring the silver threads winding through the dark locks when she was fifty. Her fingers tightened painfully on the handle of the soft bristled brush as she dragged it across her scalp. Not in grief, but in fury. Damn him.
She pursed her lips and applied a lipstick custom designed to complement her skin tone. It had cost nearly four thousand dollars. Her fingers trembled and a thick smear of lipstick arced high above the bow of her upper lip. She barely resisted the urge to fling the expensive tube into the toilet. She laid it down carefully and dabbed at the offending smear with a clean makeup pad.
As her eyes burned into her mirror's reflection, a thought rose up as clear and clean as a bell chime. She would do anything to make that murdering brat suffer. Anything at all.