Jasper found Kamden at the bar. Kamden was staring into his empty glass like it held the secrets of the universe.

Jasper signaled the bartender for a sparkling water. "He looks like you, Kam. It's uncanny. I'll give you that."

Kamden glared at his friend. "He doesn't just look like me, Jasper."

He turned on his stool, pointing a finger toward the center of the room where Cason was still laughing. "Look at him. The way he stands. The way he holds his drink. He acts like he owns the place. Like he owns... her."

Jasper sighed, trying to defuse the bomb. "A rival? For Helena? Please. You know Helena. She doesn't do drama."

"Helena chose you," Jasper affirmed, placing a hand on Kamden's shoulder.

Kamden slammed his glass down on the mahogany bar. The sound cracked like a gunshot. "Did she? Or did she settle for the copy?"

Jasper silenced. The raw insecurity in Kamden's voice was terrifying. This wasn't business jealousy. This was a man questioning his entire existence.

Across the room, Cason caught Kamden's eye. He raised his glass again. A silent, mocking toast.

Kamden felt a violent urge to cross the room and smash his fist into that mirror face. He wanted to break the reflection.

He realized he was losing control. His breathing was shallow.

"I need to step out," Kamden muttered.

"Kam, wait-"

"I said I need a minute!"

He walked toward the terrace doors, moving away from Helena, away from the crowd. He feared his jealousy would turn into an ugly scene in front of her. He couldn't let her see him like this. Weak. Broken.

Dana Zhu saw him leave. She nudged Jasper. "Go after him?"

Jasper shook his head. "Give him five minutes. He needs to cool off."

Kamden pushed open the heavy glass doors. The cold night air hit his face, shocking his system.

He walked to the stone railing. He gripped it until his knuckles turned white. Below him, Central Park was a dark void.

He pulled out his phone. His lock screen was a photo of Penny. Her tiny face, sleeping.

Is she even mine?

The intrusive thought struck him like lightning.

He hated himself for thinking it. It was vile. It was disgusting. But Cason's face... it was the same DNA.

"Damn it!"

Kamden punched the stone wall.

Skin split. Blood bloomed on his knuckles. The physical pain was sharp, grounding. It distracted him from the rot in his chest.

He breathed heavily, staring at the blood.

Behind him, footsteps crunched on the gravel.

He turned, hope flaring in his chest. Helena?

But the shadow was too large. Too broad.

Back inside, Helena was selecting a lemon tart from the buffet. She wasn't hungry, but she needed to do something with her hands.

She sensed a presence before she heard it. The air grew heavy with cloying perfume.

Morgana Vane slid up next to her, holding a glass of red wine dangerously close to Helena's dress.

"Eating your feelings, Helena?" Morgana sneered.

Helena didn't look up. She inspected the tart. "Fueling, Morgana. Some of us have responsibilities that don't involve clinging to men for relevance."

Morgana laughed. It was a brittle sound, like glass breaking. "Responsibilities? Like keeping your husband from finding out the truth?"

Helena froze mid-bite. She placed the tart back on the plate.

She turned slowly to face Morgana. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

Morgana stepped closer, emboldened by the wine and Cason's earlier confidence. "Don't I? Cason told me everything. London. The accident. The sacrifice."

Helena's eyes turned to absolute ice. Her heart hammered against her ribs, but her face remained stone.

"Cason lies," Helena said softly. "And you are a fool for listening."

Morgana sneered, her lips curling back. "You don't belong here, Helena. You act like royalty, but we all know." She dropped her gaze to Helena's left hand. "You aren't good stock. Broken goods."

The insult hung in the air. Broken goods. A direct attack on her injury, on her worth as a woman and a mother.

Helena placed her plate down on the table with deliberate calm. She straightened to her full height. She was an inch taller than Morgana, but in that moment, she looked ten feet tall.

"My 'stock' built this city, Morgana," Helena said, her voice carrying a lethal quietness. "Yours just rents space in it."

It was a devastating verbal slap. Simple. Accurate. Cruel.

Morgana's face flushed an ugly, blotchy red. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish.

Guests nearby stopped talking. The silence spread. They sensed blood in the water.

Dana Zhu was rushing over, spotting the tension from across the room.

Morgana, losing control, raised her voice. "You think you're so superior!"

Helena turned to walk away. She was done with this.

This dismissal triggered Morgana's ultimate weapon. She couldn't win the battle of wits, so she decided to burn the building down.

Morgana inhaled to shout.

Helena sensed the escalation. She stopped and looked back, challenging her. Do it. Make a fool of yourself.

"He's just a substitute, isn't he?!"

Morgana's scream cut through the gala chatter like a knife through silk.

The orchestra faltered and stopped. The silence that followed was deafening. Every head in the ballroom turned toward the buffet table.

Morgana pointed a shaking, accusing finger at Helena.

"You're using Kamden to replace Cason! We all know about London! We know who you really loved!"

The accusation hung in the air, heavy and poisonous. It wasn't just a rumor anymore. It was a public indictment.

Helena stood motionless. Her face was a mask of indifference, but inside, her stomach was twisting into knots. She knew reacting gave the rumor power. She had to be the statue. The Iron Lady.

Nearby, Mr. Sterling, a board member known for his lunchtime martinis, leaned to his neighbor. "Always knew the Ice Queen had a dirty secret," he muttered loudly enough to be heard. "Explains why she's so cold to the boy."

Cason Vincent emerged from the crowd. He looked like the victor. He moved toward Helena, acting the "savior," shaking his head at Morgana.

"Morgana, that's enough," Cason said, feigning chivalry. He reached for Helena's arm. "Let me get you out of here, Helena."

He was going to touch her. He was going to claim her in front of everyone.

Before his fingers could graze her skin, a hand clamped onto Cason's wrist.

It was Kamden.

He had returned from the terrace. His eyes were dark voids. His right hand was by his side, knuckles raw and bloody, hidden in the folds of his jacket. But his left hand was gripping Cason with crushing force.

He shoved Cason back. It wasn't a gentleman's push. It was a violent, forceful rejection. Cason stumbled back a step, surprise flickering in his eyes.

Kamden turned on Mr. Sterling.

"Say that again," Kamden growled. The sound was lethal. Low. Animalistic.

Sterling paled. He took a step back, raising his hands. "Mr. Emerson, I-"

"One more word about my wife," Kamden said, "and you'll be begging for a job at a fast-food chain by morning."

Sterling retreated into the crowd, vanishing.

Kamden turned to Helena.

He didn't look at the crowd. He didn't look at Cason. He only saw her.

He reached out and gripped her hand. Her left hand. In his adrenaline-fueled rage, his grip was punishingly tight, right over the delicate, scarred bones. Helena's breath hitched, a sharp, involuntary wince flashing across her face before she could mask it. Kamden felt the slight tremor of her recoil. For a split second, a pang of regret shot through him-he knew about the old injury, the chronic pain. But the sight of Cason's smug expression and the echoes of Morgana's accusation instantly poisoned the moment. Through the red haze of his jealousy, he didn't see a wife in pain; he saw a woman with a secret, flinching away from his touch because she longed for another's.

He pulled her closer anyway, claiming her. But his grip was trembling.

Morgana watched, realizing she might have pushed too far, but the damage was done. The whisper network was already lighting up.

Cason adjusted his cuff, smiling. The seed wasn't just planted. It was blooming.