"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.

Eleanor stepped back, her face pale as a sheet. To the audience, it looked like the matriarch was simply too overcome with shock to act.

But Franco wasn't stopped by secrets. He stormed up the stairs, his heavy footsteps thudding on the wooden stage. He grabbed Kalea's wrist-the one holding the microphone-and squeezed. Hard.

"You are finished," he growled, his voice low enough that the mic didn't pick it up, but the menace was palpable. "You just cost this family millions. I will ruin you."

Kalea tried to yank her arm back, but his grip was like iron. Pain shot up her shoulder.

Suddenly, a thud from the floor below drew everyone's attention.

Jennie had collapsed. She lay on the marble floor, eyes closed, one hand dramatically draped over her forehead.

"She's fainted!" someone shouted.

"Get a doctor!"

Franco released Kalea instantly, shoving her aside with enough force that she stumbled and nearly fell off the edge of the stage. He didn't look back. He jumped down and ran to Jennie, scooping her up in his arms.

"Jennie! Jennie, can you hear me?" His voice was filled with a tenderness Kalea had never heard.

The crowd murmured. The narrative shifted instantly. Kalea was the aggressor. The jealous, crazy woman who had bullied a poor girl into unconsciousness.

Haleigh took the microphone from Kalea's numb hand.

"I am so sorry, everyone," Haleigh said, tears glistening in her eyes. "My sister... she had a breakdown this morning. She shouldn't have been released from the hospital. Please, forgive her."

Kalea stood there, rubbing her bruised wrist. She watched Haleigh play the victim. She watched Franco cradle his mistress.

She felt strangely light. The anger had burned itself out, leaving only ash.

She lifted her hands. Slowly, deliberately, she put the emerald earrings on. First the left. Then the right. The cold stones brushed against her neck.

She walked down the stairs. The crowd parted again, but this time with looks of disgust.

She walked straight to where Franco was kneeling on the floor with Jennie. Jennie's eyelids fluttered. She opened them, looking up at Franco with wide, fearful doe eyes.

Kalea stood over them.

Franco looked up. "Get away from her, you psycho."

Kalea looked down at him. She touched the earring on her left ear.

"Take care of her, Franco," she said, her voice calm and clear. "She seems fragile. Much more fragile than your contracts."

She turned around. She didn't look at Eleanor. She didn't look at Haleigh.

She walked toward the towering pyramid of champagne glasses near the back of the room. She needed a drink. She needed to wash the taste of their hypocrisy out of her mouth.

Eleanor was watching her from the stage, her eyes burning with a hatred that promised retribution. But Kalea's hand was trembling uncontrollably now. The adrenaline was fading, and the crash was coming.