The gold-embossed invitation lay discarded in a trash can back on the Long Island estate, but Carli smirked as she looked out the window. She didn't need their permission. The Gutierrez family would welcome Edna Huffman's heir with open arms. The black Maybach pulled up to the glowing entrance of the Plaza Hotel.

The valet rushed forward and opened the door. A silver Jimmy Choo stiletto stepped onto the pavement.

Carli stepped out of the car. She was wearing Edna's vintage emerald velvet gown. The fabric hugged her waist and hips perfectly. The deep V-cut in the back exposed her bare skin to the cool night air.

Camera flashes exploded around her. The paparazzi shouted her name, desperate for a shot of the woman whose engagement had just publicly imploded.

Carli kept her chin high. She walked up the steps to the entrance.

Two massive security guards blocked the door. "Invitation, please."

Carli didn't have one. She reached into her clutch and pulled out the legal document her lawyer had just finalized. She handed it to the head of security.

"I am the sole executor of the Edna Huffman Trust," Carli said. "A primary donor to the Gutierrez Foundation."

The guard read the paper. His posture immediately changed. He handed it back and stepped aside. "Welcome, Ms. Bass."

Carli pushed open the heavy doors. The sound of a live symphony orchestra washed over her. The ballroom was blindingly bright, filled with massive crystal chandeliers and thousands of white roses.

She walked into the room. Heads turned immediately.

Skylar and Meredith, two socialites who had always hated her, leaned their heads together.

"Did you hear Vaughn dumped her?" Skylar whispered loudly. "She looks desperate."

Carli didn't even look at them. She walked straight past them, her posture perfect. She took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. She walked to the edge of the room and stood by the massive windows, watching the crowd.

Suddenly, the orchestra stopped playing.

The crowd parted like the Red Sea. A heavy silence fell over the room.

Fletcher Gutierrez walked through the main entrance.

He was surrounded by bodyguards. He wore a custom-tailored black suit. He didn't wear a tie. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone, exposing his collarbone. He radiated absolute, terrifying power.

Carli watched him from across the room. Her breath hitched.

As Fletcher walked down the center aisle, he passed within ten feet of her. A wave of cold cedar mixed with tobacco hit Carli's nose.

Her fingers tightened around the stem of her champagne flute. Her heart skipped a beat. The mask. The smell was exactly the same.

She shook her head slightly. No. It was impossible. The king of Wall Street didn't hang out in underground sex clubs.

Fletcher's dark eyes scanned the room. For half a second, his gaze locked onto Carli.

A shiver ran down her spine. It felt like a predator had just marked her.

Fletcher looked away and kept walking toward the head table.

Carli took a deep breath to steady her racing heart. She turned away and started talking to a group of older investors, focusing on networking.

A loud, obnoxious laugh echoed from the entrance.

Carli turned her head. Her eyes turned to ice.

Vaughn walked into the ballroom wearing a white tuxedo. Clinging to his arm was Isla. Isla was wearing a massive, gaudy diamond necklace that looked ridiculous against her cheap dress.

Vaughn scanned the room. He saw Carli. He smirked, grabbed Isla's hand, and walked straight toward her.

Vaughn stopped right in front of Carli. He puffed out his chest, trying to look intimidating.

Isla leaned against him. She reached up and touched the massive diamonds on her neck, making sure everyone saw them.

"Carli," Isla said. Her voice was high-pitched and sickeningly sweet. "Are you here all alone? That must be so sad for you."

A group of wealthy women gathered around them, holding their drinks, eager to watch the drama unfold.

Carli took a slow sip of her champagne. She looked Isla up and down, her eyes full of bored disgust.

Carli switched to flawless, Parisian-accented French. "Your dress is a cheap knockoff from last season. The stitching on the bodice is uneven. It makes you look wide."

Isla blinked. She didn't speak a word of French. She looked around, confused.

The old-money women in the crowd understood perfectly. Several of them let out sharp, mocking laughs.

Vaughn's face flushed red. He stepped closer to Carli. "Stop making a scene," he hissed. "You're embarrassing yourself."

"I'm not the one who brought a cheap escort to a Gutierrez event," Carli said in English. Her voice was loud enough for the whole circle to hear.

Vaughn's jaw dropped. He took a furious step forward.

Before he could speak, a blur of pink silk rushed out from the crowd. It was Lilah.

Lilah's cheek was covered in heavy foundation, but the swelling from Carli's slap was still visible. She was holding a massive glass of red wine.

Lilah pretended to trip over her own heels. She lunged forward, aiming the glass of dark red wine directly at Carli's emerald gown.

Carli saw her coming. Her reflexes were instant.

Carli took one smooth, elegant step to the right.

Lilah hit empty air. Her momentum carried her forward. Her high heels slipped on the polished marble floor.

Lilah crashed hard onto the ground. The glass shattered. The entire glass of red wine splashed back onto her own face and ruined her pink silk dress.

The sound of shattering glass made the entire ballroom turn and look.

Lilah lay on the floor, covered in wine and glass, looking like a bleeding pig. She burst into loud, ugly tears.

Vaughn dropped Isla's hand and rushed to Lilah. He pulled her up.

Lilah buried her face in Vaughn's chest. "She tripped me!" Lilah sobbed, pointing a shaking finger at Carli. "Carli pushed me!"

The crowd groaned in disgust. Everyone had seen Carli step out of the way. The lie was pathetic.

Carli looked down at them. "Idiots," she muttered. She turned to walk away.

"Security!" Vaughn screamed at the top of his lungs. "Get this crazy bitch out of here!"

His loud, crude voice echoed through the elegant room.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The heavy, rhythmic sound of a wooden cane hitting the floor came from the grand staircase.

The entire ballroom went dead silent. People quickly stepped back, bowing their heads in respect.

Isadora Gutierrez, the matriarch of the family, walked down the stairs. She was eighty years old, with stark white hair and eyes like a hawk. She held a black onyx cane.

Isadora walked straight toward the mess. She looked at Lilah crying and Vaughn yelling. Her face twisted in deep displeasure.

Then, Isadora's sharp eyes moved past them. Her gaze landed squarely on Carli.

Isadora stopped in the center of the crowd. She leaned heavily on her onyx cane. The air in the room felt suffocating.

Vaughn thought Isadora was coming to help him. He pointed at Carli. "Mrs. Gutierrez, this woman is attacking people. She needs to be thrown out."

Isadora didn't even look at him. "The Adler boy," she said, her voice dry and cold. "You have no manners."

Vaughn's face drained of color. He snapped his mouth shut and stepped back.

Isadora walked right up to Carli. Her sharp, wrinkled eyes scanned Carli from head to toe.

Carli didn't flinch. She kept her spine perfectly straight. She offered a small, respectful nod to the older woman.

Isadora's eyes softened slightly. "That dress," Isadora said. "Is that Edna's work?"

Carli's heart skipped a beat. "Yes, ma'am. She designed it for me."

Isadora nodded slowly. "You have your aunt's spine. I like you."

The crowd gasped. The socialites who had been laughing at Carli moments ago now stared at her with pure, unhidden jealousy.

Lilah, still dripping with wine, dug her nails into Vaughn's arm. Her face twisted with rage.

Isadora turned her head slightly to her guards. "Throw the trash out. They are ruining my floor."

Two massive men in black suits stepped forward. They grabbed Lilah by the arms and dragged her toward the side exit. Lilah screamed and kicked, but they didn't stop.

Vaughn took half a step forward to help her, but one of the guards glared at him. Vaughn froze, watching Lilah get thrown out into the street.

Isadora looked toward the main table. She raised her hand.

"Fletcher," she called out. Her voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the silence.

Fletcher Gutierrez put down his glass. He stood up. He walked across the room with long, powerful strides.

As he got closer, the heavy scent of cedar and tobacco wrapped around Carli again. Her lungs tightened.

Fletcher stopped next to his grandmother. "Yes, Grandmother." His voice was low and smooth. But his dark eyes were locked entirely on Carli.

"Escort Carli for the rest of the evening," Isadora commanded. "See that she is protected."

The room collectively held its breath. The ruthless king of Wall Street, acting as a bodyguard for a disgraced heiress.

Vaughn stared at them, his hands balled into fists, his eyes burning with jealousy.

As he approached, Carli thought she saw a flicker of something unreadable in his dark eyes, a glint of satisfaction that vanished as quickly as it appeared. He stepped closer to Carli and offered her his right arm.

Carli looked at his thick, muscular arm. She wanted to destroy Vaughn completely. She placed her hand on Fletcher's forearm.

The second her skin touched his suit, the muscles beneath the fabric went rock hard.

Fletcher slid his hand around to the small of her back. His large palm rested against the bare skin exposed by the deep V of her dress. His hand was burning hot.

He leaned down. His lips brushed against her ear.

"You look beautiful tonight," he whispered. His voice was a harsh, gravelly rasp.

Carli's brain short-circuited. The memory of the dark club crashed over her. A jolt went through her spine, sharp and sudden. The voice... the heat radiating from his chest... the rich, dark smell... it was all disturbingly familiar. It was an echo of that night that made her skin prickle with a confusing mix of fear and excitement. She searched his face for any sign of recognition, her mind racing to connect the ruthless billionaire standing before her with the masked stranger in the shadows.

Fletcher's face was completely blank. His dark eyes gave away absolutely nothing.

He tightened his grip on her waist and guided her forward, leaving Vaughn standing alone in the crowd.