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.

Tess pulled Harlene into a darker corner. "What the hell are you doing?" she demanded. "You're painting a target on your back."

Harlene smoothed the skirt of her red dress. "Targets are the best way to lure out the hunters."

Tess sighed, rubbing her temples. "Dennis and Jailyn are plotting something. I saw them in the corner."

Harlene followed Tess's gaze. Jailyn was walking toward Estella, two glasses of champagne in hand.

Instead of awkwardness, the two women embraced like old friends.

Harlene's eyes narrowed. Seeing them together confirmed the ugly truth she’d already suspected. Jailyn wasn't just Dennis's dirty secret; she was Estella's weapon, and the trap was finally in motion.

Estella hadn't just stolen her parents' affection. She was orchestrating the public destruction of Harlene's love life.

Tess looked at her, worried. "Harlene, are you okay?"

Harlene's fingers brushed the hilt of the dagger hidden against her thigh. A slow, icy smile spread across her face. "If they want a show, I'll give them one they'll never forget."

Estella noticed them. She took Jailyn's arm and walked over, her smile that of a victor.

"Harlene," Estella said, her voice sugary sweet. She then turned to a nearby senator, her expression shifting to one of deep concern, though her voice remained loud enough for Harlene to hear. "It's my fault, Senator. I shouldn't have worn this. It must be triggering for her. The doctors warned us she's been off her medication."

Jailyn stepped up, her chin raised. "He trusts me now. More than he ever trusted you."

Harlene let out a soft laugh. She looked from one face to the other. "Birds of a feather. It's disgusting."

Estella put a hand to her chest, feigning hurt. "You're always so hostile. It breaks my heart."

The people around them turned to stare, their judgment palpable.

Harlene took a step forward. Estella flinched back.

Harlene didn't attack. She looked past Estella's shoulder. "Any special plans for the finale?" she asked casually.

Estella blinked, confused by the shift. "The award was the finale."

"Boring," Harlene said, shaking her head. "It needs more... spark."

Jailyn scoffed. "What are you going to do? Have another breakdown?"

Harlene turned her gaze to Jailyn. Her eyes were flat and empty. "Like bleeding out on stage?"

Jailyn's hand shook, her champagne sloshing over the rim.

Estella grabbed Jailyn's arm. "Let's go. She's lost it."

As they turned away, Harlene's eyes locked onto Estella's dress. The light hit the embroidery, illuminating the intricate pattern.

The air left Harlene's lungs. She recognized that pattern. It was the Beaumont family crest, woven in silver thread over a century ago.

It was her grandmother's dress.