The red carpet was a gauntlet of blinding lights and shouting voices.

"Franco! Franco! Over here!"

"Kalea! Is it true the wedding date is set?"

"Who are you wearing?"

Franco moved with the ease of a man born to be worshipped. He waved, he smiled, he guided Kalea with a hand on the small of her back. To the cameras, it looked like a protective embrace. To Kalea, it felt like a branding iron.

"Smile," he hissed through his teeth, his lips barely moving. "Show some teeth."

Kalea forced the corners of her mouth up. Her facial muscles trembled with the effort. She felt like a marionette with tangled strings.

"We are very excited," Franco told a reporter from Page Six, stopping briefly. "We're just finalizing the details. It's going to be the event of the season."

His eyes weren't on the reporter. They were scanning the entrance hall of the estate.

Kalea followed his gaze.

Standing near a massive floral arrangement of white hydrangeas was Jennie Spence.

She was wearing a dress that was almost identical in color to Kalea's-a shimmering champagne silk that clung to every curve. But where Kalea's was high-necked and modest, Jennie's was slashed to the hip and plunged deep in the front. It was a deliberate, calculated insult. In high society, showing up in the same color palette as the guest of honor's sister-the fiancée-was an act of war.

Kalea stumbled. Her heel caught on the plush carpet.

Franco's hand tightened on her waist, his fingers digging into her flesh painfully. He hauled her upright effortlessly.

"Clumsy," he muttered in her ear. "Pull it together."

They moved past the press line and into the grand foyer. The moment they were out of direct sight of the cameras, Kalea pulled away. She jerked her arm from his grip and walked briskly toward a large marble pillar that offered a sliver of privacy.

Franco sighed, annoyed, and followed her. He smoothed the lapel of his suit, checking for wrinkles.

"What is wrong with you?" he asked.

Kalea turned on him. Her chest was heaving. "Send her home."

Franco blinked, feigning ignorance. "Who?"

"Jennie. Send her home. Now." Kalea's voice shook, not with tears, but with a rage so hot it felt cold. "Or I leave. Right now. And you can explain to your uncle why the merger asset just walked out the door."

Franco stared at her. Then, a slow, cruel smile spread across his face. He took a step closer, looming over her. He used his height to intimidate, boxing her in against the cold stone pillar.

"You aren't going anywhere, Kalea," he said softly. "You think you have leverage? Your family's stock is tanking. This marriage is the only thing keeping the Alexander Group from being dissolved and sold for parts. You need me. Your father needs me."

He leaned down, his breath brushing her ear. "I love Jennie. She understands me. She makes me feel alive. You? You're a duty. So be a good little wife and tolerate it. Don't make me embarrass you."

He pulled back, looking at her with a mixture of pity and disgust. "Grow up, Kalea."

He turned on his heel and walked away. He walked straight toward the champagne dress. Straight toward Jennie.

Kalea stood frozen against the pillar. The cold of the stone seeped through the thin fabric of her dress, chilling her spine.

I love Jennie.

He had said it. Out loud. To her face.

She reached into her clutch and pulled out her phone. She opened her message thread with Franco. It was a graveyard of unrequited affection. Texts from her saying "Have a safe flight", "Good luck with the meeting", "I miss you". Most were unanswered.

She typed two digits.

99

She hit send.

Across the room, she saw Franco pause. He pulled his phone from his pocket, glanced at the screen, and frowned. He looked around, annoyed, then shoved the phone back in his pocket without replying.

Kalea watched the "Read" receipt appear.

It wasn't a plea. It was a countdown. A metric for her own sanity. When it hit zero, she would be gone. One way or another.

A waiter passed by with a silver tray. Kalea reached out and grabbed a flute of champagne. The doctor had been explicitly clear: No alcohol with your medication. It could cause respiratory depression.

Kalea didn't care. She drained the glass in one long swallow. The alcohol hit her empty, ravaged stomach like a shard of glass. A wave of dizziness washed over her, and she gripped the stem of the flute, her knuckles white, forcing the world to stay upright. The pain was a welcome distraction, a sharp, physical anchor in a sea of emotional torment. It hurt, and the pain was grounding.

She looked up. On the grand staircase, Haleigh was descending, arm in arm with Eleanor. They looked like royalty. Haleigh was beaming, soaking in the applause. The perfect family.

And moving through the crowd, holding a glass of wine, Jennie Spence was walking straight toward Kalea. Her hips swayed. There was a smile on her face that didn't reach her eyes.

Kalea gripped the empty champagne flute until she felt the fragile glass groan under the pressure.

"Kalea! Darling!" Jennie's voice was sugary sweet, pitched just loud enough to turn heads nearby.

She glided to a stop in front of Kalea. Up close, the champagne dress looked even more expensive. Jennie smelled like the inside of the limousine-that heavy, floral scent that made Kalea's head throb.

"I love that dress on you," Jennie said, reaching out as if to touch the fabric, but stopping short. "It's so... vintage. Was that from the Spring collection two years ago? I think I saw it in an outlet."

A few guests nearby chuckled politely, hiding their smirks behind cocktail napkins.

Kalea looked at her. She didn't blink. She looked at Jennie the way one might look at a stain on a silk rug. "And I see you're wearing the 'Ambition' collection," Kalea said, her voice flat. "Tell me, does Franco pay you overtime for this? Or is this part of the 'full service' package?"

Jennie's smile faltered. Her eyes narrowed into slits. She took a step closer, invading Kalea's personal space. She lowered her voice to a whisper.

"He told me about you last night," Jennie hissed. "While he was in my bed. He said touching you is like touching a corpse. Cold. Lifeless."

Kalea felt the blood drain from her face. Her stomach twisted violently. But she didn't step back. She held her ground.

"At least I'm not a rental," Kalea whispered back.

Jennie's face twisted in ugly rage. For a second, the mask slipped completely.

Suddenly, Jennie gasped. She threw her hand to her chest.

"Oh! Please, don't!" Jennie shrieked.

She threw herself backward. It was a theatrical, clumsy movement, but effective. She slammed into the edge of the dessert table behind her.

CRASH.

A silver platter of macarons went flying. Jennie stumbled, catching herself on the tablecloth, pulling it down.

The music stopped. Haleigh stopped cutting the cake on the stage. Every eye in the ballroom turned to the corner where Kalea stood holding an empty glass, looking for all the world like she had just shoved the fragile secretary.

Jennie was panting, looking terrified. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to upset you!" she cried out.

As Jennie scrambled to regain her balance, her beaded clutch bag slipped from her fingers. It hit the marble floor. The clasp popped open.

A small velvet box tumbled out. It hit the floor and bounced open.

Two large, teardrop-shaped emerald earrings rolled out onto the white marble.

They caught the light of the chandelier, flashing a deep, hypnotic green.

The room went silent.

Kalea stopped breathing. Her vision tunneled until all she could see were those green stones.

They were unmistakably the Alexander Emeralds. Her grandmother's earrings. The ones Grandma Rose had worn in her portrait. The ones she had promised to Kalea on her deathbed.

"They are lost," Eleanor had told her three years ago. "The safe was faulty. They're gone."

Jennie's eyes went wide with genuine panic. This wasn't part of her script. She lunged forward, her hand scrambling across the floor to grab the jewels.

"No!" Jennie gasped.

Kalea moved. She didn't think. Instinct took over.

She stepped forward and brought her heel down hard.

Crunch.

She stomped directly onto Jennie's outstretched hand.

"AAAAHH!" Jennie screamed, a high-pitched, blood-curdling sound that echoed off the vaulted ceiling.

Kalea didn't lift her foot. She ground her heel down, pinning the hand to the floor. She bent down, her movements fluid and terrifyingly calm. She picked up the earrings. The metal was cold against her skin.

She turned them over. On the back of the gold setting, barely visible, was the engraving: To My Dearest Eleanor.

Her mother had lied. She hadn't lost them. She had given them away. Or Franco had taken them. It didn't matter. They were in the purse of her fiancé's mistress.

Kalea stood up. She held the earrings tightly in her fist, the sharp edges of the gems cutting into her palm. She lifted her foot off Jennie's hand, which was now red and swelling rapidly.

She looked up. Her eyes swept the room, dark and burning. She locked eyes with Eleanor, who was rushing across the ballroom floor.

Eleanor pushed through the crowd of stunned guests, her face a mask of fury and terror. She didn't look at Jennie, who was cradling her crushed hand and sobbing on the floor. She looked straight at Kalea's clenched fist.

She recognized the glint of green.

Eleanor stopped three feet away. Her chest was heaving. "Kalea," she warned, her voice low and dangerous. "Give those to me. Now."

Kalea held the earrings up. "You said they were lost," she said. Her voice wasn't loud, but in the silence of the room, it carried. "You told me they were stolen."

"We will discuss this in private," Eleanor hissed, reaching out to grab Kalea's arm.

Kalea stepped back. "In private? Like how you gave my inheritance to your son-in-law's whore in private?"

A collective gasp rippled through the room. The word whore hung in the air like toxic smoke.

"She's crazy!" Jennie wailed from the floor, tears streaming down her face. "She attacked me! She's stealing my jewelry!"

Franco appeared, pushing past Eleanor. He looked at Jennie on the floor, then at Kalea. His face darkened with rage. "What the hell are you doing? Give her back her things!"

"Her things?" Kalea laughed. It was a jagged, broken sound. "These are my grandmother's. Look at the engraving, Franco. Or can you not read?"

"You are hysterical," Franco spat. "You're off your meds. Give them here before I call security."

Haleigh appeared at Eleanor's side. She looked angelic in her white dress, her face the picture of concern. "Please, everyone," Haleigh said, her voice soft and trembling. "My sister isn't well. She's been... confused lately. The stress of the wedding. Please, just ignore this."

"Confused?" Kalea looked at Haleigh. The pieces clicked into place. Eleanor wouldn't give the earrings to Jennie directly. Eleanor gave them to Haleigh. The golden child. And Haleigh, who wouldn't be caught dead wearing "old" jewelry, gave them to Jennie. To buy silence? Or just to humiliate Kalea further?

"I am not confused," Kalea said.

She turned and walked toward the small stage where the band had been playing. The crowd parted for her, terrified of the look in her eyes.

"Stop her!" Eleanor shrieked at the security guards.

But the guards were blocked by a wall of curious billionaires holding champagne flutes. No one moved.

Kalea stepped up onto the stage. She walked to the microphone stand. The feedback whined for a second, piercing the air.

She held the earrings up to the light.

"These are the Alexander Emeralds," she said, her voice booming through the speakers. "My grandmother left them to me. Tonight, they fell out of the purse of Ms. Jennie Spence, my fiancé's secretary."

She looked down at Franco. He looked like he wanted to murder her. His face was purple.

"I wonder," Kalea continued, "how a secretary affords a family heirloom? Or perhaps... she didn't buy them."

Eleanor was rushing the stage now. She scrambled up the steps, her hand raised as if to strike Kalea.

Kalea spun around. She didn't flinch. She leaned into the microphone, but turned her head so only Eleanor could hear the whisper.

"Touch me," Kalea whispered, "and I tell everyone about Haleigh's little trip to the clinic last summer. And who paid for it."

Eleanor froze. Her hand stopped in mid-air. Her eyes went wide, the pupils dilated with pure fear.

Kalea smiled. It was a cold, dead smile. "Back off, Mother."

Eleanor slowly lowered her hand. She was trembling. She looked at Kalea as if she were a stranger. A monster.