Alta walked toward them, her white dress swishing with every step. She was playing the part perfectly-the concerned, sweet younger sister. She stopped a few feet away, her eyes darting to Angelo before settling on Annalise.

"Anna, your ankle..." she started, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. "I saw you wince. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Alta," Annalise cut her off, her voice sharp and cold. She didn't look at her sister like a sibling; she looked at her like a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of her shoe.

Greggory appeared right behind Alta, his face flushed. He took a step forward, trying to insert himself into the conversation. "Annalise, we need to talk. This is ridiculous."

Annalise didn't even grant him a glance. She simply turned her back on him, her focus entirely on Alta.

She walked over to the massive champagne tower. The glass structure reached up toward the ceiling, a pyramid of crystal flutes. At the very top, resting on a special cradle, sat a bottle of vintage Dom Pérignon. It was an antique, worth more than most cars, and it was notoriously difficult to reach.

Annalise pointed a manicured finger at the top of the tower.

"I want that one," she said.

Alta blinked, her smile faltering. "What?"

"The antique one. On the top." Annalise spoke slowly, as if explaining something to a child. "Get it for me."

The nearby guests had gone quiet, sensing the shift in the air. This wasn't a request; it was a command.

Alta's face flushed red. She looked around at the watching crowd, then back at Annalise. "Anna, that's too high. I can't reach it. Why don't you ask the staff-"

"Are you defying me?" Annalise asked, her voice dropping to a lethal whisper. She crossed her arms over her chest, the rubies at her throat catching the light. She wasn't asking as a sister. She was ordering as the heiress of the Knowles empire.

Greggory stepped in, trying to smooth things over. He forced a laugh. "I can get it for you, sweetheart. It's no trouble."

Annalise finally looked at him. The disgust in her eyes was barely concealed. "I didn't ask you. I asked my sister."

She put a heavy, sarcastic emphasis on the last word. The implication was clear: know your place.

Alta's lower lip trembled. She looked like she was about to cry, the perfect picture of the victim. But Annalise felt no pity. All she could see was the woman who had cut her brake lines. All she could hear was the sound of her mother's name being dragged through the mud.

"Well?" Annalise tapped her foot impatiently. "We're waiting."

The whispers started. The guests were eating it up. The Knowles heiress was putting the interloper in her place.

Alta was trapped. If she refused, she would look defiant and ungrateful in front of the city's elite. If she accepted, she would look like a servant. She shot a desperate, pleading look at Greggory.

But Greggory was too busy trying to figure out Annalise's angle. He still thought this was a game. He thought she was acting out because she was jealous, and that if he just let her get it out of her system, she would fall into his arms.

He gave Alta a subtle nod. Just do it.

Angelo stood a few paces back, his hands in his pockets. He watched the scene unfold with a faint smirk on his face. He didn't interfere. He just watched Annalise work, looking like a man admiring a masterpiece.

Alta took a shaky breath. She smoothed down her white dress and walked toward the tower, her head held high, trying to salvage some dignity.

She looked up at the top of the pyramid, her jaw clenching. It was at least eight feet off the ground.

Annalise watched her, her face a mask of indifference. She caught the eye of the head butler, Arthur, who was standing near the wall.

She gave him a look. A specific, deliberate look.

Arthur understood immediately. He disappeared through a side door, returning moments later with a small, polished mahogany stepping stool, usually reserved for reaching the highest shelves in the estate library. It was elegant, but clearly too short and precarious for the towering champagne pyramid.

He set it up right next to the champagne tower, the wooden legs scraping against the marble floor.

Alta stared at the stool, her face pale. This was it. The execution was about to begin.

Arthur stepped back, his face entirely blank. He had served the Knowles family for thirty years, and if the Missus wanted a ladder, the Missus got a ladder.

Alta stared at the polished wooden steps. The stool looked like it belonged in a private study, not in the middle of a glittering ballroom. It was a humiliation, plain and simple.

She tried one last time, her voice thin. "Anna, I really can't. I'll ruin the tower."

Annalise picked up a fresh glass of champagne from a passing tray. She took a slow, deliberate sip, her eyes never leaving Alta's face. "Climb."

Greggory, tired of the delay and the staring crowd, leaned in close to Alta. "Just do it, get it over with," he muttered through a clenched jaw. "Don't make a scene."

He didn't want to look bad. He didn't want people to think his girlfriend couldn't follow a simple order. He certainly didn't want Annalise to think he was weak.

Alta's head snapped toward him, her eyes wide with disbelief. He was supposed to be her partner. He was supposed to save her.

But Greggory was busy adjusting his cufflinks, refusing to meet her gaze. He was already distancing himself, leaving her to twist in the wind.

Alta bit the inside of her cheek so hard she tasted copper. She grabbed the sides of her short skirt, pulling them down as far as they would go, and placed a shaky foot on the first rung.

The ladder wobbled.

A low whistle came from somewhere in the crowd. It was followed by a ripple of laughter, mean and sharp.

Alta climbed another rung. The short hem of her white dress rode up her thighs, exposing more skin with every step. She tried to press her knees together, to keep some shred of modesty, but the action made her balance precarious.

She gripped the sides of the ladder, her knuckles white. "Almost there," she whispered to herself, a desperate mantra.

The crowd was no longer hiding their interest. Phones came out of pockets and clutches. The flashes were blinding, turning the scene into a grotesque photo shoot.

Annalise watched from the sidelines, her expression blank. She felt nothing. No guilt, no sympathy. Only a cold, satisfying sense of justice.

Alta reached the top rung. She stretched her arm out, her fingers brushing the neck of the antique bottle.

She shifted her weight to reach further. The movement was her undoing.

The skirt of her dress finally gave up the fight, sliding up to her waist. The bright flash of a camera illuminated her exposed skin for a split second, capturing the moment for the front page of every gossip blog in the city.

Alta gasped, her hand flying down to cover herself.

The sudden movement threw her center of gravity off. The ladder tilted violently to the left, the wooden legs screeching against the floor.

Greggory, who had moved closer to the base of the tower, saw her start to fall. His instinct took over, but it wasn't the instinct to catch her. It was the instinct to protect himself.

He stepped back, his hands coming up to shield his expensive suit from the falling liquid.

Annalise stood on the second-floor landing, leaning against the railing. When she had ascended the stairs moments ago, Eddy had silently peeled away from the main floor, using the service stairs to flank her position, melting into the shadows of the upper balcony like a phantom. She turned her head slightly, catching Eddy's eye. He was standing a few feet away, his phone already raised.

She nodded once.

Eddy's thumb hit the shutter button, the phone clicking rapidly in burst mode. He wasn't capturing the fall. He was capturing the look of sheer panic on Alta's face, the exposed skin, the humiliation.

Alta saw the lens. She saw the cold, hard lens pointed right at her.

"No! Don't shoot!" she shrieked, her voice cracking.

She let out a shriek, instinctively releasing one hand from the ladder to cover her exposed skin, but it was a fatal mistake. The sudden shift in weight made her lose her balance entirely, her body twisting as her feet left the rung.

The ladder gave way, crashing to the floor with a deafening clang.

Alta's hand flailed, her nails scraping against the edge of the champagne tower. The top tier wobbled.

A loud, sickening crack echoed through the room as the structure gave way.

The antique bottle tipped. It rolled off the cradle, gathering speed as it fell.

It grazed Alta's shoulder, the heavy glass shattering against the ladder rung beside her. A shard of crystal sliced deeply into her collarbone, and she screamed, a raw, animal sound of pain and terror.

Then the rest of the tower collapsed.

It was a cascade of destruction. Hundreds of crystal flutes shattered in a chain reaction, the sound like a thousand wind chimes breaking at once. It was deafening, drowning out the string quartet, drowning out the gasps of the crowd.

A tidal wave of golden champagne poured over the edge of the table, a rushing river of alcohol and glass shards.

Alta hit the floor hard, her body lost in the avalanche. The liquid washed over her, soaking her white dress until it was transparent and stained yellow. Shards of glass glittered in her hair, embedded in the fabric.

She curled into a ball, her hands covering her head as the last of the glasses rained down around her. Blood seeped from a gash on her forehead, mixing with the champagne to create a pale pink puddle on the marble.

The ballroom went dead silent. The only sound was the drip, drip, drip of the remaining liquid falling from the ruined table.

Then, the room exploded. People were shouting, pointing, and the flash of cameras was blinding. It was a media circus.

Greggory stood a few feet away, splatters of champagne on his tailored trousers. He stared at the crumpled, bleeding figure of his lover on the floor.

His first instinct wasn't to help her. He grabbed a napkin from a nearby table and furiously wiped at the wet spots on his suit, his face twisted in disgust.

Annalise watched from the second floor. She didn't flinch. She didn't look away. She simply observed the destruction she had orchestrated with the cold detachment of a surgeon.

Eddy slipped the phone back into his pocket, his face impassive. "Got it, Miss Knowles," he said quietly, stepping back into the shadows.

A faint, satisfied smile touched Annalise's lips. It was gone in an instant.

Harrison Knowles pushed his way through the crowd, his face pale with shock. He stopped at the edge of the mess, staring at his stepdaughter lying in the wreckage.

"What happened?" he bellowed, his voice echoing over the noise.

Arthur, the butler, immediately stepped forward, his arms wide to block the view of the more aggressive photographers. "Back, please. Give her room."

Annalise walked down the stairs, her pace unhurried. She stepped over a puddle of champagne, her red dress trailing through the mess.

She reached her father's side, placing a gentle hand on his arm. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and innocent.

"Alta insisted on climbing, Father. I couldn't stop her," she said, her voice trembling just enough to sound sincere. "She wanted to prove herself. It was an accident."

It was a perfect lie. Delivered with the right amount of regret and helplessness.

Harrison looked at his daughter, then at the sobbing mess on the floor. He frowned, his brow furrowed, but he didn't question her. Annalise was his blood. Alta was just his late wife's mistake.

In the middle of the floor, Alta pushed herself up onto her hands and knees. Glass crunched beneath her palms. She looked up, her wet hair hanging in her face.

Her eyes locked onto Annalise. They burned with a hatred so intense it was almost tangible. It was a promise of pain.

Annalise met her gaze. She didn't look away. She didn't flinch. She just stared back, her eyes saying the words she couldn't speak out loud: This is just the beginning.

The paramedics arrived, pushing through the crowd with a stretcher. They quickly loaded Alta onto it, strapping her down.

Greggory finally stepped forward, his composure recovered. He grabbed Alta's hand, his face a mask of concern. "You're going to be okay," he murmured, playing the part of the hero.

But his eyes weren't on Alta. They were on Annalise. He still thought this was a game. He thought she had thrown a tantrum because she was jealous. He thought this proved she loved him.

Annalise watched the stretcher being carried away, the red and white lights of the ambulance flashing through the windows.

The fire in her chest burned hotter. It wasn't enough. It was a down payment.

She turned away from the mess, her spine straightening. She had a party to finish.