She didn't knock. She pushed open the double doors to Estelle's suite-her old suite.

The room was a flurry of activity. Bright lights, hairspray, the chatter of a styling team. Estelle sat in the center of it all on a velvet chair, looking like a porcelain doll.

Her mother, Eleanor, stood nearby, barking orders at a maid. "The diamond choker! The Vinson family sent it. Get it!"

Eleanor turned and saw Alice. Her face fell.

"What are you wearing?" Eleanor demanded, her nose wrinkling. "You look like a crow. It's a Gala, Alice, not a funeral."

"It's the only dress I have," Alice said calmly.

Estelle looked at Alice in the mirror. Her eyes widened in mock surprise. "Oh no! Alice! I completely forgot to order you a dress. I've just been so swamped with the charity planning."

Her voice was sweet, dripping with synthetic syrup.

"It's fine," Alice said. "I don't need your charity."

Eleanor stepped forward. "Well, since you're here, make yourself useful. Help your sister with her shoes. Her back is sore from all her cello practice."

The room went silent. The stylists paused, combs hovering in mid-air.

They wanted the former heiress to kneel at the feet of the new favorite. It was a power play. A public humiliation.

"She has hands," Alice said. "And a dozen maids."

"Do as you're told!" Eleanor snapped. "You learned how to take orders in prison, didn't you? Use those skills."

Estelle pouted, extending a foot. "Please, Alice? My back really does hurt."

Alice looked at the shoe. A Jimmy Choo stiletto, encrusted with crystals.

She looked at Estelle's smug face.

Alice walked over. She knelt.

Eleanor and Estelle exchanged a triumphant glance. They thought they had broken her.

Alice picked up the shoe. She held it in her hands. It was delicate.

"This heel looks loose," she said loudly. "It might be dangerous."

She gripped the heel and the sole. Her hands were strong. Three years of scrubbing floors and lifting crates in the commissary had given her grip strength they couldn't imagine.

She twisted.

Snap.

The sound was loud in the quiet room. The heel broke off cleanly in her hand.

"Oops," Alice said, standing up and dropping the broken pieces on the floor. "It broke. Guess it wasn't made very well. Just like your story."

Estelle shrieked. "My custom shoes! You did that on purpose!"

Eleanor lunged at Alice, her hand raised to strike. "You spiteful little wretch! You're just jealous!"

Alice didn't flinch. She stared straight into her mother's eyes.

"Go ahead," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "Hit me. Do it. I'll walk downstairs with a handprint on my face. And when the reporters ask, I'll tell them exactly who did it. 'Stafford Matriarch Abuses Freshly Released Daughter.' That's a headline, isn't it?"

Eleanor's hand froze in the air. Her chest heaved. She looked at the stylists, who were watching with wide eyes. She knew she couldn't do it. Not with witnesses.

She lowered her hand slowly. "Get out. Get out of my sight."

Alice turned her back on them. As she walked to the door, she heard Estelle sobbing about her ruined outfit.

Alice smiled. It was the first time she had smiled all day.

The ballroom of the Pierre Hotel was a kaleidoscope of diamonds, silk, and power. The chandeliers dripped light onto the elite of Manhattan.

Alice walked in alone.

Her black dress was a void in the sea of pastels and sequins. Heads turned. The whispers started immediately, rippling through the room like a wave.

"Is that her?"

"The felon?"

"She looks... intense."

"I heard she stole millions."

Alice kept her chin high. She walked to a corner near a pillar and took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. She didn't drink it. She just held it as a prop.

A few minutes later, the double doors swung open. Estelle and Benito entered.

Flashes erupted. It was blinding. Estelle had changed into backup shoes and was beaming, clutching Benito's arm. They looked like royalty.

Benito scanned the room. His eyes landed on Alice in the corner. He narrowed them, a silent warning: Stay there.

Alice didn't move.

Estelle worked the room, accepting compliments, playing the role of the blushing bride-to-be perfectly. Then, she steered Benito toward Alice.

She grabbed two glasses of red wine from a tray.

"Alice!" she called out, her voice pitching to carry over the crowd. "You look so... somber. You're all alone over here."

Estelle walked up to Alice, extending a glass of wine. "Here. Let's toast. To your freedom."

Alice looked at the wine. Red. Dark.

"I don't drink," she said.

Estelle stepped closer. She leaned in to hug Alice, putting her mouth right next to her ear.

"You know," she whispered, her voice venomous, "Benny told me you were like a dead fish in bed. He wonders if the guards in prison taught you any new tricks."

Alice's blood boiled. The glass in her hand shook.

Estelle pulled back, smiling sweetly. Then, she deliberately tripped over her own feet.

She threw her hands up. The red wine in her glass launched forward, splashing all over the front of her pristine white gown.

"Ahhh!" Estelle screamed. She fell to the floor in a heap of silk.

The music stopped. The room gasped.

"Alice!" Estelle sobbed, pointing a trembling finger at her. "Why did you push me?"

Alice stood there, frozen. Her champagne glass was still full. She hadn't touched Estelle.

Benito was at Estelle's side in a second. He glared up at Alice, his face twisted in rage. "Alice! Are you insane? You attacked her!"

"I didn't touch her," Alice said, her voice calm despite the adrenaline surging through her.

"I saw it!" A girl in a pink dress-one of Estelle's friends-stepped forward. "She shoved her! She's violent! She's a criminal!"

The word hung in the air. Criminal.

Cameras flashed rapidly, capturing Estelle on the floor, stained red like a victim, and Alice standing over her in black, looking like the villain.

"Get her out of here!" Benito shouted at security. "She's dangerous!"

Alice looked around the room. Disgust. Fear. Judgment.

She looked at Benito. He was enjoying this. He was the hero protecting his lady.

Alice laughed. It was a short, dry sound.

"You want a villain?" she asked softly. "Fine."

Security guards started to move toward Alice, but she didn't back down. She took a step toward Estelle.

Benito stood up, blocking her. "Stay back! Don't you dare come near her."

"Why?" Alice asked, her voice cutting through the murmurs of the crowd. "Are you afraid I'll tell them what she whispered to me right before she threw herself on the floor?"

Estelle, still on the floor, looked panicked. She tried to scramble up, but her hand landed on the broken stem of the wine glass she had dropped.

"Ow!" she cried out for real this time.

She lifted her hand. Blood-real blood-welled up from a cut on her palm. It dripped onto the white dress, mixing with the wine.

"She's bleeding!" someone screamed.

"You monster!" Benito lunged at Alice. He raised his hand to shove her.

Alice sidestepped. He stumbled, catching himself on the pillar. He looked foolish.

"Enough!"

Her father, Richard Stafford, pushed through the crowd. His face was purple with rage. He looked at Estelle bleeding on the floor, then at Alice.

"Alice!" he roared. "On your knees! Apologize to your sister immediately!"

Alice looked at her father. The man who had asked her to sign the fraudulent documents three years ago.

"Apologize for what?" she asked. "For her clumsiness? For her lies?"

"For disgracing this family!" Richard raised his hand. "I should have left you in that cell to rot!"

He swung.

Alice didn't flinch. She took a step closer, invading his personal space, her voice a venomous whisper meant only for him. "If you hit me," she said, her voice low and clear enough that the tremor in it was his alone to hear, "I will recite the exact account numbers of the offshore shell companies you used to hide the assets during the SEC investigation. I'll say them right here, right now, for every reporter with a recording device."

Richard's hand stopped inches from her face.

The silence in the room was absolute. You could hear a pin drop.

"What did she say?" a guest whispered. "Offshore accounts?"

Richard's eyes bulged. He looked terrified. He knew she knew. She was the one who had memorized the ledgers before she took the fall.

"You wouldn't," he hissed.

"Try me," Alice said. "I have nothing left to lose, Father. You took my freedom. You took my reputation. You took my life. Do you really think I care about your stock price anymore?"

Estelle was clutching her hand, staring at Alice in horror. She realized, perhaps for the first time, that Alice wasn't playing by their rules anymore.

Benito looked between Alice and Richard. He looked confused. He saw the fear in Richard's eyes.

"Alice," Benito started, his voice uncertain.

"Shut up, Benito," Alice said without looking at him. "This is between me and the man who sold me out."

Alice held her father's gaze. She had the power. For the first time in her life, she was the one holding the gun.