Harlene's chest heaved. The noise of the party faded away, replaced by the roaring in her ears.

That dress. It was the Victorian antique her grandmother had cherished. The dress with the hidden family crest.

She remembered her grandmother's weak voice, the hand cold as paper gripping hers. "This is for you, Harlene. When you come of age."

And now, the only physical memory of love she had left was draped over the body of the woman who had destroyed her life.

Harlene moved before she could think. She lunged forward, her hand fisting in the delicate fabric of the bodice, yanking Estella back.

"Where did you get this?" Harlene snarled, her face inches from Estella's.

Estella stumbled, startled, but quickly recovered. She pried Harlene's fingers off, a smug look on her face. "Mother gave it to me. It's my trophy for tonight."

The words hit Harlene like a sledgehammer. Her mother had given away her grandmother's dress. The last piece of her history, handed to the enemy.

Jailyn chimed in, her voice like poison. "Some people just don't deserve beautiful things."

Estella twirled, the heavy skirt flaring out. "Doesn't it look gorgeous? I fill it out much better than that old woman ever did."

Something inside Harlene snapped. It wasn't a break; it was a severance. The world went red. A cold, clear thought cut through the rage: This is not a breakdown. This is a demolition. They need to fear the monster, not pity the victim.

She didn't speak. Words were useless against this level of betrayal.

Her right hand slipped to her thigh. Her fingers wrapped around the hilt of the dagger. The metal was warm now, eager.

Across the room, Tess saw the movement. Her eyes went wide. She tried to run forward, but the crowd was too thick.

Jailyn was still talking, bragging about Dennis, completely oblivious to the danger.

Harlene advanced. Each step was measured, heavy.

Estella mistook her silence for defeat. She posed, ready for the cameras.

The dagger cleared the sheath. The silver blade flashed under the chandelier light.

As soon as the blade was visible, two security guards started moving in from the perimeter, their expressions tense. They didn't draw their weapons, but they closed the distance, their eyes flicking towards Alastair for direction.

Estella's smile vanished. She finally saw the knife. She tried to step back.

Harlene's left hand shot out, grabbing Estella's shoulder in a vice grip, pinning her in place.

Her right hand swung. The blade didn't aim for flesh. It sliced through the antique velvet like it was paper.

The sound of tearing fabric was loud, obscene. It sounded like a scream.

Estella shrieked, trying to twist away, but Harlene held her fast.

Harlene was relentless. She slashed again and again. The heavy skirt fell away in ribbons. The silver embroidery was severed, the threads bleeding onto the floor.

Gasps and screams erupted around them. The crowd surged back, creating a wide berth.

Jailyn fell to the floor, her face white, her previous arrogance gone.

Harlene stopped. She was breathing hard, her chest heaving. She looked at the shredded fabric in her hand, then at the ruined dress hanging off Estella's shoulders.

She threw the scraps into Estella's tear-streaked face.

"You owe me," Harlene said, her voice dead and cold.

Estella clawed the strips of velvet off her face. Her hair was a mess, her makeup running. The saintly image was gone, replaced by a hysterical mess.

"Security!" she screamed, her voice cracking. "Get this psycho!"

Harlene watched her squirm. A dark, twisted part of her enjoyed the sight. But it wasn't enough.

She raised the dagger. She took a step toward Estella, her eyes glowing with a feral hunger.

Estella scrambled backward, her heel catching on the remains of her skirt. She fell hard on her backside.

Harlene stood over her, the tip of the blade pointing at Estella's nose. She looked like a queen looking down at a beggar.

Jailyn tried to get up. Her heel slipped on the polished floor, and she fell again.

Harlene's eyes flicked to her. She remembered the smug look on Jailyn's face.

Harlene pivoted. She ignored Estella and charged at Jailyn, the dagger raised.

Jailyn froze. She saw the blade coming for her shoulder. She screamed, squeezing her eyes shut.

The blade never touched her.

A large hand grabbed the blade mid-swing. Blood instantly welled up, dripping onto Jailyn's pale dress.

Dennis had appeared out of nowhere, his hand wrapped around the steel.

Harlene looked up. Dennis's face was twisted in pain, but his eyes were full of disgust. His eyes, for a split second, didn't lock on Jailyn's terrified face, but darted towards the cluster of press cameras, his mind instantly calculating the political calculus of this heroic wound.

He didn't look at her. He turned to Jailyn, checking her frantically for wounds, ignoring the blood pouring from his own palm.

It was the press conference all over again. He was protecting the other woman. She was the monster.

A laugh bubbled up in Harlene's throat. It was a sound of pure disbelief. She tried to pull the knife back, but Dennis's grip was iron.

"Drop it," Dennis growled through gritted teeth. "Stop this."

Harlene twisted her wrist. She rotated the blade inside his grip. The edge sliced deeper into his palm.

Dennis gasped, his fingers spasming open. Harlene ripped the knife back.

The security guards, seeing blood and a potential hostage situation unfolding, finally pushed through the crowd, their tasers drawn and aimed at her chest.

Harlene looked around. She was surrounded. But she wasn't scared.

She looked back at Estella, who was cowering behind Dennis.

Harlene knew she had to end this. She needed a bigger distraction.

She moved. She was faster than the guards. She dodged a reaching hand and lunged for Estella.

Before Dennis could react, Harlene's hand was tangled in Estella's hair. She yanked hard.

Estella screamed as she was dragged to the floor. Harlene pressed the bloody blade against Estella's throat.

The guards froze. Dennis froze. The room held its breath.

Harlene began to walk backward, dragging Estella along the floor like a sack of garbage. She headed for the stage, a jaunty whistle echoing through the silent room.