Harlene stood in the doorway. She didn't move. She let them look, let their eyes scrape over her like sandpaper. The silence stretched until it became unbearable, and then the whispers began.

They hissed like snakes. "What is she wearing?" "She looks insane." "Someone should call a doctor."

Near the stage, Genevieve's face was a mask of fury. Her fingers were wrapped so tightly around her champagne flute that it was a miracle the glass didn't shatter.

Estella stood beside her, the picture of perfect concern. But her eyes were mocking, enjoying the spectacle of her sister's humiliation.

Harlene ignored them all. She walked toward the bar, her heels striking the marble floor with a sharp, rhythmic click. She picked up a flute of champagne and downed it in one gulp. The alcohol burned a trail of fire down her throat, igniting the rage in her stomach.

A rough hand clamped down on her wrist. The grip was bruising, crushing the delicate bones together.

The smell hit her next. Tobacco and expensive cologne. The scent of power and cruelty. Dennis.

Harlene didn't turn around. She just looked at his white-knuckled grip on her wrist, a cold smile playing on her lips.

"What the hell are you wearing?" Dennis hissed, his jaw clenched tight. "Are you trying to embarrass me?"

Harlene turned slowly. She took the hand that was bruising her wrist and dragged her fingernails lightly down the front of his tailored suit. She looked up at him through her dark, smudged makeup, her gaze a mix of seduction and utter contempt.

"Don't you like it?" she purred. "Isn't this what you wanted? A crazy woman?"

Disgust flashed in Dennis's eyes. He dropped her hand like it was diseased, wiping his palm on his pants. He glanced around the room, making sure no important donors were watching, before leaning in close.

"Keep your voice down," he snarled. "Stop acting like a child."

Harlene rubbed her wrist, the skin already turning purple. Looking at his perfectly composed, hypocritical face made her stomach churn. "You're worried about the cameras, Dennis. Not me."

Dennis tried a different tactic. His voice softened, his eyes feigning warmth. "Harlene, please. Remember when we got engaged? We were happy then."

"Don't," Harlene cut him off, her voice sharp as glass. "You were happy because my father was paying your campaign bills."

Dennis's face went red. The blow to his ego shattered his facade of control. He grabbed her shoulders, his fingers digging into her collarbones. "You don't get to be self-righteous. You're nothing without this family."

Harlene leaned in until her lips were almost touching his ear. "You look just like all the other pathetic men I've played with," she whispered.

Dennis shoved her hard. Harlene stumbled backward, her heel catching on the edge of the carpet. She crashed into a waiter, sending a tray of glasses crashing to the floor.

The shattering glass silenced the room once again. Every head turned, every camera flashed.

Dennis's expression flipped like a switch. He stepped forward, his hand outstretched, his face the picture of a concerned fiancé. "Harlene, are you okay?"

Harlene batted his hand away. She steadied herself, brushing a shard of glass off her shoulder. She looked at him with eyes that were dead and cold.

"Don't touch me," she said, her voice ringing clearly across the ballroom.

Dennis froze. The concern melted off his face, leaving only panic. He realized she wasn't playing by his rules anymore.

He shot her a venomous glare before turning and melting into the crowd, desperate to escape the blast zone.

Harlene didn't chase him. She simply picked up another glass of wine from the bar. She turned, her eyes scanning the sea of faces until they landed on a woman in a pale blue dress, laughing with a group of senators.

Jailyn Richard.

Harlene raised her glass toward the woman, a mocking salute. The hunt was on.

Harlene walked through the crowd, her red dress a slash of color against the monochrome suits. As she moved, people physically recoiled, stepping back to let her pass.

A strange, electric thrill shot through her. So this was what it felt like to be the monster. They were afraid of her.

Before she could reach the other side, Dennis stepped into her path. And he wasn't alone. Jailyn was clinging to his arm, her chin tilted up in defiance.

"Apologize," Dennis demanded, pointing a finger at Harlene. "Apologize to Jailyn right now."

Harlene raised an eyebrow, feigning ignorance. "Why would I apologize to a campaign manager?"

Jailyn stepped forward, her lower lip trembling in a perfect pout. "Because of your leak last month, I almost lost my job. It was humiliating."

Harlene let out a short, bitter laugh. "That leak came from Estella, and you know it."

"Shut up," Dennis snapped. "You did it because you're jealous of Jailyn's talent. You always have been."

The absurdity of it hit Harlene like a physical blow. She had never been jealous of this woman. She was just a pawn in Estella's game.

Dennis leaned in, his voice dropping to a threat. "If you don't apologize, the wedding is off."

Harlene didn't flinch. She didn't cry. She laughed. It was a loud, genuine laugh that made Dennis's eye twitch.

She reached out and straightened his crooked tie. The gesture was intimate, but the look in her eyes made his skin crawl.

She leaned close to his ear, her breath hot against his skin. "Cancel the wedding. You'll still just be a loser who rode a woman's coattails to the top."

Dennis's face drained of color. He shoved her away, his eyes burning with hatred.

Jailyn immediately gasped, stepping back and clutching her pearls, playing the victim for the nearby audience.

Harlene looked at the two of them, their little performance making her sick. She tipped her champagne glass. The liquid splashed all over Jailyn's expensive white heels.

Jailyn shrieked. "You're insane! You're an animal!"

Harlene bent down, bringing herself eye-level with Jailyn. "This is just the beginning, thief," she whispered, the word sharp as a knife. Her mind flashed with images of her own stolen design sketches for the Argent sculpture competition, sketches she'd later seen hailed as Jailyn's genius.

Jailyn's eyes widened. She had heard the word. She understood exactly what it meant. She took a step back, her face going pale.

Dennis, oblivious to the exchange, grabbed Harlene's arm again. "You don't get to ruin her career!"

Harlene yanked her arm free. She looked at the fresh bruises forming on her skin, then back at him. "Are you protecting her career, Dennis? Or your own poll numbers?"

The murmurs around them grew louder. The Beaumont family image was cracking.

A housekeeper sent by Genevieve tried to intervene, but one icy glare from Harlene sent the woman scurrying away.

Dennis realized the situation was out of control. He grabbed Jailyn's hand and pulled her away, fleeing the scene.

Harlene watched them go. Her eyes were empty, as if she were staring at two corpses.

She turned and walked out onto the balcony. The cold air hit her, but it did nothing to cool the boiling rage inside her.

She pulled out her phone and typed a message to an encrypted number. "Initiate Protocol Two."

She looked back through the glass doors. Estella was standing near the stage, her dress shimmering under the lights. The design of the embroidery caught Harlene's eye. Something was wrong.

The wind on the balcony was freezing, turning Harlene's fingers to ice, but her blood felt like it was boiling.

She looked through the glass doors. Dennis was standing in the corner, holding Jailyn's hands, gently wiping away her tears. The gesture was tender.

It was the same gesture he had used three years ago, at his first campaign gala. Harlene had been overwhelmed by the crowd, a panic attack rising in her chest. Dennis had held her hands, wiped her tears, and promised to protect her from her family.

The memory shattered. It was replaced by the image from six months ago, at the press conference where she was accused of abusing prescription drugs.

She had looked to Dennis for support, for a lifeline. He had turned his head away. The disgust in his profile had cut deeper than any accusation.

Back in the present, Harlene saw Dennis walking toward the balcony doors. He wanted to finish this.

He stood on the other side of the glass, his mouth moving as he warned her to stay away from Jailyn. There was no sound, just the furious movement of his lips. It looked like a bad mime act.

Harlene pushed the door open. The wind howled into the room, blowing her hair into a wild mess around her face.

Dennis frowned, reaching out to fix her hair. "You look like a lunatic. Fix yourself."

Harlene didn't move. She just stared at him. The anger in her eyes faded, replaced by a terrifying stillness.

"Do you remember," she asked, her voice hollow, "the panic attacks I got from covering up your scandals?"

Dennis looked away, shifting his weight. "That was your own mental instability. You can't blame me for that."

The words severed the last thread holding Harlene back. The final cord of affection snapped with an audible snap in her mind.

She smiled. It was a smile of pure, unadulterated relief. The burden of loving him was gone.

Dennis took a step back, unnerved by the look on her face. "What? Why are you smiling?"

Harlene walked toward him. Each step was deliberate, crushing the ghost of the man she thought he was.

She reached out her hand. Dennis flinched, raising his arms to block a hit.

But Harlene simply slid the diamond ring off her finger. The stone was cold and heavy.

She grabbed the lapel of his jacket and shoved the ring into his front pocket. She patted his chest twice, the gesture utterly patronizing.

"Keep it for your next wife," she said, her voice clear and sharp. "Let's hope she's easier to break."

Dennis's jaw dropped. He tried to speak, but no sound came out.

Harlene turned her back on him. She walked into the ballroom, her posture straight, her head high.

A waltz began to play. Harlene walked straight to the center of the dance floor.

She began to dance. Alone. She spun, her red dress flaring out around her like a flame. She was fire, and the fire was burning everything down.

The guests scattered, clearing a wide circle around her, terrified of getting burned.

As she spun, she saw Estella walking toward the stage, the spotlight hitting her.

Harlene stopped dancing. She smoothed down her skirt, adjusting her armor. Then she walked directly toward the bright, shining stage.