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.

The spotlight focused on the center of the stage. Estella stood there, holding the crystal award for Humanitarian of the Year. Her smile was beatific, her eyes shining with fake humility.

The crowd applauded. Alastair Beaumont beamed with pride. Genevieve nodded in satisfaction.

Harlene stood at the edge of the crowd, watching the circus. Her face was a mask of ice.

"I want to thank my parents," Estella said into the microphone, her voice trembling with emotion. "And my dear sister, Harlene. I know she's struggling right now, but we love her anyway."

The cameras immediately swung to Harlene, expecting tears or a breakdown.

Harlene just rolled her eyes. She turned her back on the stage and walked to the bar.

Genevieve moved through the crowd like a shark, intercepting her. "Your little dance just embarrassed this entire family," she hissed.

Harlene picked up a shot of vodka and threw it back, the burn a welcome distraction. As she set the glass down, a waiter in a crisp white jacket moved to clear it. He leaned in close, his movements fluid and unnoticeable to anyone watching. "Protocol Two engaged, Phoenix," he murmured, his fingers brushing hers. Something cold and metallic slid into her palm. She ignored her mother.

Genevieve grabbed her arm, her nails digging in. "Go to your room. Now. You are not to be seen again tonight."

Harlene pulled her arm away. "This is Estella's party. Are you sure you want to make a scene?"

Genevieve's face tightened. She stepped back, forced to swallow her anger.

Estella descended from the stage, gliding over to them. "Mother, don't be hard on her," she said, her voice loud enough for others to hear. "She's sick."

Then she leaned in close to Harlene. "It's a shame Grandmother isn't here to see this. She would have been so proud of me."

Harlene's breath caught. Her vision tunneled. Mentioning her grandmother was a line in the sand.

Estella pulled back, a satisfied smirk on her face, and walked away to accept more congratulations.

Alastair walked over. He didn't look at Harlene. He didn't speak to her. He just said to Genevieve, "Control the situation."

He walked over to Estella, putting a fatherly hand on her shoulder. The image of them together, the perfect father and daughter, was a knife in Harlene's gut.

She set her empty glass down. She walked into the shadows at the side of the stage, where Estella's award and purse sat unattended.

Harlene didn't touch them. She just stared at the crystal trophy, imagining it shattering into a million pieces.

Suddenly, the side door banged open. Tess Valo strode in, wearing black leather and a scowl. She shoved past a security guard who tried to stop her, her eyes scanning the room until they found Harlene. She marched up to her, her expression grim.

"They're spinning it already," Tess said in a low, urgent voice. "The narrative is that you're having a psychotic break. Dennis is playing the heartbroken fiancé. You need an exit strategy."

Harlene's fingers closed around the object in her hand. The weight of the steel felt like the only real thing in the room. She casually moved her hand to her thigh and slid the small, ornate dagger into the hidden sheath. The metal was cold against her skin.

She looked up, her eyes finding Estella across the room. This time, she wasn't the prey. She was the predator.