Betsy was paralysed, her body unwilling to move as her eyes followed the crazed and angry pacing of her attacker. Fear. It was like an invisible prison guard, one that held her tight within its grasp and refused to let her go. Every part of her was screaming to fight. To run. To escape. To do something other than lay there sprawled on the floor waiting for this woman to make her next move. And yet her body would not co-operate.

"I tried to warn you away. Over and over again I gave you chances to leave." The woman stated, flicking her lifeless brown-dyed hair over her shoulder as her hands jabbed accusingly in Betsy's direction. "This is all you fault."

Betsy shook her head in denial, her face throbbing in protest. "I only met you for the first time last week."

She rolled her eyes, the movement dislodging her contact lenses out of place. It only made her look more crazed. "Stupid woman. You don't know anything, do you?" Her screeching voice cut through the air, sending a shiver down Betsy's spine. "Your car. Your photos in the paper. You don't seriously believe all of that was an accident. Not that it took much effort. A whisper in the right ear and a bit of cash and people will do anything you ask of them."

Betsy frowned. Her car? What was she even talking about? Nick had sold her car.

"But you. You just don't seem to take a hint, do you? I gave you all of the breadcrumbs, to give you the easy out, but you're still here trying to take everything that rightfully belongs to me."

The woman reached into her pocket then swiftly launched a balled up piece of paper through the air. It smacked Betsy on her bloodied and bruised face before dropping down into her lap. With trembling hands, she unravelled the creased paper. She swallowed as she noted the image printed onto the sheet. It was the picture from the paper – the one of her, Nick, and the children at the park.

"I knew when I saw this that you were not going to walk away. You should have left. You had no right to be here. He's mine!" She trailed off muttering to herself and nodding her head intermittently as if she was having some kind of internal dialogue.

Abruptly a loud scream filled the room. Betsy gasped, startling backwards. But the woman's focus wasn't on her. Instead the stranger stomped across the hallway with rage written on her features and yanked a photo of the children off of its hanging. She paused for a moment, her eyes staring blankly at the image, her fingers curled painfully tight around the frame. Then, with a loud banshee's cry, she launched it at Betsy's prone form.

Betsy's body froze for a moment too long. Then, like the spell had been broken she spurred into action, her arms dragging her backwards in an attempt to get out of the line of fire. She wasn't fast enough. The photo smashed against her feet, shards of glass embedding themselves into her flesh. Fresh pain bloomed like an angry fire, growing as each second passed.

Wincing, Betsy glanced between her feet and the enraged woman. She was stuck somewhere between the pain in her body and fear of what the woman would do next. Her heart pounded so loudly she was sure the other woman could hear it.

"This was meant to be mine. All mine." The woman waved her hands around her before setting her crazed eyes upon Betsy. "You should have left when I warned you to. Now I'll have to make you leave."

Betsy shook her head even as her feet throbbed with pain. In the face of the deranged woman she found herself strangely mute. There were so many questions that she wanted to ask, but the fear of more pain kept the words buried deep within her. The woman before her was standing on a precipice and Betsy knew it may only take one wrong word to tip her over the edge.

"Not to worry, you're not the only one I'm here to see." The woman cackled, the sound causing a shiver of dread to run down Betsy's spine. She dipped her hand into her pocket and pulled out a pocket knife, flipping it open with practiced ease. "Let's go and find that bitch Mrs Reed. We need to have a few words."

Her feet stomped closer. Betsy shied away on instinct but there was nowhere for her to escape to. Fingers delved into her hair before her head was wrenched backwards. "Get up off of the floor. Now."

As she was forced upwards by her hair, her feet scrabbled for purchase beneath her body. The frenzied movements caused pain shoot up her legs. More glass buried itself way into her damaged feet. Warm blood oozed from the wounds and Betsy knew if she looked down, the floor would be smeared with red streaks.

"Move it, now."

Betsy cried out as the woman yanked her head once more. The blade of the pocket knife pressed against her throat. The sensation of cool metal against her skin, the sharp bite of the blade as it cut in, caused her to suck in a sharp breath. The taste of her own blood and the woman's cloying perfume mixed within her mouth. Her body was on auto pilot. Betsy was moving before her brain could process her actions.

They made their way through the house, bloody footprints being left in their wake. Betsy winced with each step, the glass cutting deeper as each moment passed. Betsy was just glad she was here alone. There was no one else to get in the path of this mad woman – at least for another hour or two.

With another sharp yank of hair, Betsy felt some of the strands pull free from her scalp. She cried out even as her captor kicked her from behind, the booted foot forcing her forwards. Betsy regained her balance before she fell on the kitchen floor. All she wanted to do was get off of her throbbing feet but Betsy forced herself to remain standing.

"Where is the bitch then? Mrs Reed? Come out, come out wherever you are." She taunted, dragging her blade along the edge of the counter top before coming to stand directly behind Betsy once more. "It's finally time that we have a chat – woman to woman."

Betsy swallowed loudly even as she felt warm breath against the back of her neck. The tip of the blade dug into her shoulder a second later.

"Where. Is. She?" With each word, the woman jabbed the blade deeper. Despite the pain she felt, Betsy refused to give her the satisfaction of her cries.

Betsy laughed, her face throbbing at the movement. "She's not here. It's just you and me here alone."

"You lie." The voice stated but uncertainty crept in.

"What reason do I have to lie? She's not here and she won't be here any time soon." Betsy turned her head and smiled at the woman. "You lost."

The woman did not immediately react but as the seconds passed her face took on a purple hue as the rage built up within her. And then she screamed loudly, the blade twisting into Betsy's shoulder before she shoved Betsy hard in the back.

The blonde catapulted forwards, forced to thrust her arms out in front of her to stop her face from smacking into the floor. She quickly rolled over and stared up at the raging woman. Betsy's attacker grabbed everything she could off of the countertops and hurled it across the room. Even the toaster was yanked off of the side and met its end as it hit the wall.

Panting for breath, the woman brushed her hair out of her face and straightened her clothing. Once she was as composed as her fractured state of mind would allow, she gave Betsy a smile.

"Not to worry. Mrs Reed will get hers in the future. Right now, I think it's time we had a little talk."

"I don't know who you are or what you want but you need to leave. If you go now, I won't say anything to anyone." Betsy stated far more calmly than she felt. "Just walk away now."

The woman's smile got wider.

"Nice try, but that bullshit doesn't work on me." The woman advanced, her fingertip pressing against the tip of the pocket knife's blade. Blood began to pool around the wound but she didn't appear to notice. "You took everything that belonged to me and now I'm going to take it back. If I get rid of you, Nick will come back to me. He'll be grateful that I got rid of you and he'll welcome me back. If that bitter old hag hadn't gotten in my way I would have had the ring already."

"What are you talking about?"

"I was you before you. The Davenport housekeeper." The woman waved her hand at the house around them. "Months I looked after those brats and I had him eating out of the palm of my hand. But then that old bat started spreading lies about me."

Betsy sucked in a sharp breath. "You're her."

"I knew Nick still talked about me."

Betsy shook her head. "That's nothing to be proud of. I can assure you there was nothing complimentary about it."

"Lies. Nick cares about me. That old bag has been influencing him from the start, always whispering in his ear, but when you're out of the way and so is she, Nick will remember that. You'll be gone and I'll have the Davenport name and money." The woman trailed off, her voice taking on a dreamy quality as she lost herself in her fantasy.

Betsy knew she should use her distraction as a chance to escape. But the irrational part of her won and asked, "What about Nick? Do you even care about him and the children?"

"They're a means to an end. If you want power and influence, you've got to be willing to take them. I've worked my arse off my entire life. I deserve fame and power. I deserve to be the wife of Nicholas Davenport not you. " The woman glanced down at the blade in her grasp for several long seconds and then she set her attention on Betsy. "Unfortunately for you, I am more than willing to take what I want."

The look in her eyes had changed. There was no longer just the madness. There was cold resolve. Betsy felt like a wounded animal caught in the path of a deadly predator. If she didn't move, she knew that this woman was more than capable of taking her life.

As the woman stalked closer and closer, Betsy dragged herself out of reach. The woman's smile just grew more twisted. She was enjoying the hunt. Betsy's back hit the wall and panic set in. She had nowhere to run.

The fake brunette grinned mercilessly down at her. "I'm going to make this hurt," she promised before lunging forwards and stabbing the pocket knife into Betsy's thigh. She twisted the blade, her eyes watching intently as Betsy's face contorted in pain. A scream was torn from Betsy's throat, her hands closing around the hand that was fisted around the hilt of the blade in an attempt to stop the pain.

"Please." Betsy begged, her pain filled eyes staring up at the woman hovering over her.

The woman hovering over her drew back her free hand and threw a fist into Betsy's face. The blonde's head snapped backwards on impact, her head crashing against the wall. Betsy's head lolled on her neck. Dizzy. She felt so dizzy. She caught movement over the woman's shoulder and was sure that she had been hit hard enough that she was actually seeing stars.

Then there was thud. Betsy winced, half expecting to feel pain elsewhere in her body. But there was no new source of pain only the throbbing of her existing wounds.

"Betsy? Oh my god, Betsy."

Betsy's eyes squinted as she attempted to focus. A hand reached out to touch her face but pulled away before it could make contact.

"What did she do to you? Oh god, please be okay."

Betsy blinked. Her mind sluggishly attempted to put a name to the blurry face. "Claire?" She slurred. "When did you get here?"

"Shh, don't worry about that." Claire soothed, one hand stroking her hair while the other held the phone to her ear. "You just need to stay still okay. The police and the paramedics are on their way."

Betsy nodded her head, groaning loudly when the room started to spin. Claire glanced over her shoulder at the unconscious woman on the floor so Betsy took the moment to look down at her leg. The pocket knife was still protruding from her leg, her clothing stained red around it. It just made it hurt even more.

Her hand wrapped around knife and with a sharp tug she pulled it free. There was a brief moment of blessed relief to not have the knife in her leg anymore. And then there was suddenly a lot of blood. Betsy turned her head to the side, attempting not to throw up at the sight of it. Her fingers released their hold on the knife and it clattered to the floor at her side.

"Oh god, Betsy. What did you do?" Claire chastised, dropping the phone to the floor. She pressed both hands over the wound in her sister's leg.

Betsy cried out, her eyes closing in reaction to the pressure on her wound.

"Hey no, no closing those eyes on me. I need you to stay awake."

Betsy forced her eyes open and grinned dopily at her sister. "You saved me." She snorted out a laugh before moaning as her battered face protested the action.

"You bet I did." Claire smiled in a response, tears falling from her eyes and dripping down her face. "Now you owe me. Big time."

Claire leant forward and pressed her forehead against Betsy's careful not to touch any of her wounds. "I love you."

Betsy smiled pathetically in response. "I love you too."

The words were barely out of her mouth when Nick's security team flooded into the room with the paramedics took over. And even as a set of hands took over from her sister, and she was forced to answer inane question after inane question, Betsy couldn't stop the relieved sigh from escaping her lips. It was over. She was safe. 

A/N: I know many of you find this chapter frustrating. In a life or death situation,  a person will either fight, flee, or freeze. We'd all like to think we'd fight or flee. But, as shown by Betsy, that does not always happen. How a person responds in these situations is a result of their instincts and is not a weakness.