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.

Arthur clapped his hands, and a swarm of staff descended on the wreckage. They worked with quiet efficiency, sweeping up the glass, mopping the champagne, and dragging away the ruined table.

Within ten minutes, the center of the room was clear. The only evidence of the disaster was the faint smell of alcohol and the lingering shock on the guests' faces.

The band, taking their cue from Arthur, struck up a softer tune, trying to restore a sense of normalcy to the evening.

Harrison Knowles stepped up onto the small stage at the front of the room. He tapped the microphone, the sound echoing through the space.

The crowd fell silent, their attention shifting from the drama to the patriarch. This was what they had really come for-the power, the connections, the spectacle of wealth.

Greggory stood near the front of the crowd, his hands clasped in front of him. He took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. This was his moment.

He was absolutely certain that Annalise was going to use this opportunity to break free. The tantrum, the public humiliation of Alta-it all pointed to a woman pushed to the edge. She was going to refuse the arranged marriage, and he was going to be there to catch her.

He had his speech ready. The one where he would denounce the old ways, take her hand, and lead her out into the night. It was going to be legendary.

Annalise stood off to the side of the stage, her hands folded neatly in front of her. Angelo stood a few feet behind her, a silent, looming presence.

Eddy materialized at her elbow, his voice barely a whisper. "The photos have been sent to the columnist."

Annalise gave a slight nod. Alta's social death was now a certainty. By morning, the pictures of her exposed and falling would be on every screen in the country.

Harrison began his speech, the usual platitudes about family, legacy, and the future. He thanked the guests for their support, raising a glass to the city they called home.

"And most importantly," he said, his voice booming with pride, "today is a day of celebration. My daughter, Annalise, turns twenty-one."

The crowd applauded politely. Greggory leaned forward, his eyes locked on Annalise. He gave her a small, encouraging nod. The signal they had agreed upon. The signal for her to make her move.

Annalise looked at him. She let her gaze linger on his face for a long moment.

Then, she smiled. It wasn't the smile he was expecting. It was cold, sharp, and utterly devoid of love. It was the smile of a woman looking at a dead man walking.

Greggory's stomach dropped. The confidence in his eyes flickered, replaced by a sudden, cold uncertainty.

Harrison's voice cut through the tension. "Today, I also have another announcement to make."

Greggory straightened his tie, his heart hammering against his ribs. This was it. The rejection. The scandal. The beginning of their life together.

"My daughter, Annalise, is engaged to be married!" Harrison announced, his smile wide and genuine.

Greggory puffed out his chest, ready to step forward and claim her.

"To Angelo Molina."

The words hit Greggory like a physical blow. The air rushed out of his lungs, his ears ringing.

The crowd erupted in gasps and applause. Angelo Molina was a legend. He was the man who built an empire from nothing, the phantom of the financial world. And he was marrying the Knowles heiress.

Angelo stepped out of the shadows. He moved with a quiet, predatory grace, climbing the steps to the stage. He stopped right next to Annalise.

He reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a velvet box. He flipped it open, revealing a massive diamond that caught the stage lights, and without a word, he slipped it onto her ring finger. Then, he took her hand in his, his grip firm and warm. He didn't just hold it; he claimed it, intertwining their fingers so the large diamond caught the light.

Annalise didn't hesitate. She squeezed his hand back, lifting their joined hands to face the crowd. She was beaming, a picture of joy and triumph.

Greggory stood frozen in the crowd. His mouth was hanging open, his eyes wide and unseeing. He looked like a man who had just watched his entire world collapse. He was a statue of humiliation, a joke in a expensive suit.

Annalise didn't spare him a second glance. She kept her eyes on the crowd, on the future, on the man beside her.

Angelo looked down at her. The coldness in his eyes had melted away, replaced by something deep and possessive. It was a look that said mine, a look that promised forever.

Under the cover of the applause, Annalise allowed herself a small, real smile. The first piece was in place.