The heavy velvet curtains fell shut, cutting off the noise and the light of the ballroom.

The autumn wind whipped across the high-altitude balcony of The Plaza. It bit through the thin silk of Vivian's dress, but she didn't shiver.

Sophia paced near the stone railing. Her bare feet slapped against the cold marble. Her hands tearing at her own hair.

Vivian stepped out from the shadows. Her heels clicked sharply against the stone. She took a slow sip of her champagne.

Sophia spun around. Her eyes were bloodshot. The makeup smeared across her face made her look like a feral animal.

"You ruined my life!" Sophia shrieked. The wind swallowed her voice. "I was supposed to be the queen of New York! You took everything from me!"

"I just took out the trash," Vivian said coldly.

The words snapped the last thread of Sophia's sanity.

She let out a guttural scream. She lowered her head and charged. She aimed her hands directly at Vivian's chest, throwing her entire body weight forward to push Vivian over the low stone railing.

A fifty-story drop awaited.

Vivian watched the sloppy, amateur attack unfold in slow motion.

When Sophia's fingers were two inches from her dress, Vivian shifted her weight to her right heel. She slid her torso sideways. A mere four inches.

Sophia hit empty air.

Her momentum carried her forward. She shrieked as her feet slipped on the smooth marble.

Vivian didn't just watch her fall. She extended her left foot. The sharp stiletto heel caught Sophia perfectly on the ankle bone.

Sophia flipped forward. She slammed chest-first into the heavy, jagged edge of a marble planter.

Crack.

The sound of snapping ribs was loud, even over the wind.

Sophia collapsed onto the floor. She curled into a tight ball, clutching her right side. She gasped, choking on the pain. Every breath sounded wet and ragged.

Vivian calmly set her champagne glass on the planter.

She walked over to Sophia. She looked down at the writhing woman.

Vivian crouched down. She placed the sharp heel of her shoe directly onto the fabric of Sophia's dress, pinning her to the floor.

Vivian grabbed a fistful of Sophia's hair. She yanked her head back, exposing her throat.

"Listen to me very carefully," Vivian whispered. Her voice was ice. "Tell me about the car crash."

Sophia whimpered. "I don't... I don't know..."

Vivian's eyes locked onto Sophia's pupils. They dilated. A micro-expression of pure guilt twitched at the corner of Sophia's mouth.

Vivian tightened her grip on the hair. She dragged Sophia across the floor, ignoring her screams. She forced Sophia's upper body over the edge of the stone railing.

The wind howled. The dizzying drop to the street below made Sophia sob in terror.

"Three," Vivian counted down.

"No! Please!" Sophia begged, clawing blindly at the stone.

"Two." Vivian pushed her an inch further.

"It was Iris!" Sophia screamed. Tears and snot ran down her face. "Your cousin Iris Vance! She was jealous, she always hated you! She... she found the driver, I heard her talking about it! She wanted control of the junior trust! I just bullied you at school, I swear!"

Vivian's stomach dropped. The physical confirmation of her extended family's betrayal sent a wave of cold, murderous rage through her veins.

Her fingers twitched with the urge to simply let go.

Instead, Vivian yanked Sophia back and threw her onto the marble floor like a sack of garbage.

Sophia curled up, dry-heaving from the pain and terror.

Vivian stood up. She reached into her clutch and pulled out a silk handkerchief. She wiped her fingers meticulously, disgusted by the oil from Sophia's hair.

Suddenly, heavy footsteps pounded down the hallway inside.

"Sophia!" Arthur's voice bellowed.

Sophia's head snapped up. She began to drag herself toward the glass doors, leaving a smear of blood from her scraped knees.

Vivian's eyes narrowed. She quickly picked up her champagne glass. She tilted it, spilling a splash of cold wine onto her own skirt. She widened her eyes, forcing her breathing to become rapid and shallow.

The glass doors burst open.

Arthur charged onto the balcony, followed by three reporters holding heavy cameras.

Arthur saw Sophia bleeding and broken on the floor. Then he looked at Vivian, who was standing against the railing, clutching her chest in 'terror'.

Arthur's face twisted into a mask of pure hatred. He raised his heavy right hand high into the air, aiming a brutal slap directly at Vivian's face.

The wind caught Arthur's sleeve as his hand swung down. The reporters' cameras flashed, freezing the violence in stark white light.

Vivian's eyes tracked the trajectory of his palm. Her face remained a mask of terror, but her right hand slipped smoothly into the hidden slit pocket of her gown.

Her fingertips brushed the cold metal cylinder of a tactical micro-syringe. It was loaded with a lethal dose of sodium thiopental.

Her thumb rested on the plunger. If his hand touched her skin, she would drive the needle into his radial artery. He would be dead before he hit the floor.

The slap was three inches from her cheek.

A massive hand shot out from the dark. Long, powerful fingers clamped around Arthur's wrist like a steel vice.

The loud smack of flesh hitting flesh echoed on the balcony.

Ethan Thorne stood there. The shadows seemed to cling to his broad shoulders. His jaw was locked so tight the muscles twitched.

Arthur gasped. The bones in his wrist ground together under Ethan's crushing grip.

Ethan didn't say a word. He twisted his wrist and shoved.

Arthur flew backward. He stumbled over his own feet and crashed hard into the glass doors, sliding down to the floor.

Ethan stepped in front of Vivian. His broad back completely blocked her from the cameras.

He looked down at her. His eyes scanned the spilled champagne on her dress, the rapid rise and fall of her chest. His gaze lingered for a fraction of a second on her right hand, still hidden in her pocket.

Sophia saw her father fall. She pointed a shaking, bloody finger at Vivian.

"She pushed me!" Sophia shrieked to the reporters. "She tried to kill me! Arrest her!"

Arthur scrambled to his feet, clutching his bruised wrist. "You heard her! Call the police! She's a murderer!"

The reporters raised their cameras, hungry for the scandal.

Ethan let out a low, dark laugh. The sound sent a shiver down the spines of everyone on the balcony.

He raised his hand and snapped his fingers.

J.D. Rivers stepped onto the balcony, followed by four Blackwater guards. They immediately formed a wall, blocking the exit.

J.D. held up a sleek tablet. He tapped the screen.

"This balcony is equipped with military-grade infrared security cameras," Ethan said coldly. "Let's see the tape."

J.D. turned the tablet toward the reporters.

The high-definition night-vision footage played. It clearly showed Sophia screaming, charging like a mad dog, and throwing herself at Vivian. It showed Vivian shrinking back in 'fear', and Sophia slipping on the marble, smashing her own ribs against the planter.

It was undeniable proof.

Sophia's screams died in her throat. Her mouth hung open.

Arthur stared at the screen. The remaining color drained from his face. He looked like a man standing on the gallows.

"My legal team will be filing charges for attempted murder and defamation first thing in the morning," Ethan announced. His voice left no room for negotiation.

The reporters furiously typed on their phones. The Vance family was officially dead and buried.

Ethan turned his back on them. He shrugged off his heavy, custom-tailored suit jacket.

He draped it over Vivian's shoulders. The jacket was massive on her. It smelled of expensive cologne and the heat of his skin. It was a physical brand. A claim of absolute protection.

He placed his hand on the small of her back and guided her off the balcony. They walked past Arthur without a single glance.

They stepped into the private VIP elevator. The heavy steel doors slid shut, cutting off the chaos.

The elevator began its rapid descent. The silence in the small box was thick and heavy.

Ethan turned his head. He looked down at Vivian.

Vivian had dropped the terrified act. Her posture was straight, her eyes cold and calculating.

Ethan's lips curved into a dangerous smirk.

"Your acting is Oscar-worthy," Ethan murmured. He stepped closer. His chest brushed against the lapels of the jacket she wore. "Now, tell me. What lethal little toy were you hiding in your pocket?"