Morning sunlight poured into the formal dining room.

Elliana sat at the head of the long mahogany table. She calmly sliced into a piece of French toast, the silver knife clinking softly against the porcelain plate.

Devontae walked into the room. Dark purple bags hung under his eyes. His shirt was wrinkled.

He pulled out a chair opposite her and dropped his weight into it. He slapped his palms flat on the table.

"Give me the Astor-Wexler invitation," he demanded. His voice was rough and arrogant.

Elliana placed her knife and fork down. She picked up a linen napkin and dabbed the corners of her mouth. She looked at him with dead eyes.

"Why would I give the most exclusive social ticket in New York to a high-end escort?" she asked flatly.

Devontae slammed his fist on the table. The silverware rattled. "Kyle needs this opportunity to network for my company! She has potential. You are just jealous because she is younger and actually useful."

Elliana smiled. It was a cold, terrifying smile. She picked up her black coffee and took a slow sip.

Devontae gritted his teeth. "Give me the invitation, Elliana. I'll buy you that limited edition Birkin bag you've been whining about."

Elliana reached into the leather tote bag resting on the floor beside her. She pulled out a thick stack of legal documents and tossed them across the polished wood. They slid and stopped right in front of him.

"If you want the invitation, sign this," she said.

Devontae frowned. He picked up the first page. His eyes scanned the text, and his jaw dropped.

"Two hundred thousand dollars?" he yelled. "An early transfer from my trust to yours? Are you insane?"

Elliana crossed her arms over her chest. "That is the price. Buy it, or get out of my dining room."

She reached forward, grabbing the edge of the paper. "Actually, never mind. I'll just put the invitation through the paper shredder right now."

Devontae slammed his hand down on top of the documents, pinning them to the table. He glared at her, his chest heaving.

He calculated the risk in his head. Kyle had been begging for this ticket for weeks. If he didn't get it, she would make his life miserable. Two hundred thousand was a hit, but he could hide it in the company expenses.

He pulled a Montblanc pen from his jacket pocket. He flipped to the last page and signed his name so violently the nib tore through the paper.

He shoved the papers back toward her.

Elliana picked them up. She checked the signature, folded the document neatly, and placed it back into her bag.

She opened the small drawer built into the dining table. She pulled out a thick, cream-colored envelope sealed with gold wax.

She flicked her wrist. The envelope flew across the table.

It hit Devontae in the chest, slid down his shirt, and landed squarely in the center of his plate, soaking up a massive puddle of red ketchup.

Devontae gasped. He snatched the ruined envelope from the plate. The grease and ketchup smeared across the gold foil.

"You crazy bitch," he hissed. He kicked his chair back, turned, and marched out of the room.

Elliana watched him leave. Her stomach settled into a calm, satisfying rhythm.

Her phone chimed on the table. She looked at the screen. A notification from her lawyer confirmed the two hundred thousand dollars had cleared into her private account.

She stood up. It was time to pick out a dress for the slaughter.

The Astor-Wexler estate loomed against the night sky, a massive stone fortress of old money and power.

Elliana stepped out of the black town car. She wore a sleek, floor-length black Tom Ford gown. It had no jewels, no sequins, just a razor-sharp cut that commanded absolute attention.

She tossed the keys to the valet and walked up the wide marble steps. Her Christian Louboutin heels clicked rhythmically against the stone.

She did not have a physical invitation. She didn't need one. She pulled up the digital family pass on her phone, scanned it at the security podium, and walked through the heavy brass doors.

The main hall was a sea of muted colors-blacks, deep navies, and silvers. The air smelled of expensive champagne and subtle, custom perfumes.

Elliana scanned the room. It took her less than three seconds to find Kyle.

Kyle was standing near a massive floral arrangement, wearing a bright, blindingly pink sequined dress. She looked like a cheap disco ball in a museum.

Kyle was holding the ketchup-stained invitation, waving it around as she tried to force her way into a conversation with three older women wearing pearl necklaces. The women looked at Kyle with thinly veiled disgust.

Kyle spotted Elliana. Her eyes lit up with malicious joy. She pushed past the women and marched straight toward Elliana, her heels stomping awkwardly on the carpet.

"Well, well," Kyle said loudly, shaking the paper invitation in Elliana's face. "Thank you so much for giving up your spot. Devontae insisted I represent the family tonight since I actually know how to talk to important people."

Elliana stood perfectly still. She looked at Kyle the way a scientist looks at a dying insect.

Kyle leaned in closer, dropping her voice to a harsh whisper. "Devontae was so generous last night. He told me you begged him to stay, but he couldn't stand the sight of you."

Elliana took a slow step backward. She raised her hand and elegantly covered her nose.

"You need to step back," Elliana said, her voice carrying clearly over the music. "Your perfume is so cheap and suffocating, it completely ruins the air in here. You are polluting a historical landmark with your desperate need for attention."

Kyle's face turned stark white. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish. She looked around, realizing several people had heard the insult and were smirking.

Elliana dropped her hand and looked past Kyle, toward the far end of the hall where Beatrice Astor-Wexler was holding court.

"It's a shame I didn't bring a gift," Elliana murmured, pretending to speak to herself. "Everyone knows praising that painting in the gallery is the only way Beatrice will acknowledge you."

Kyle's eyes snapped back to Elliana. Greed and triumph flashed in her pupils.

"You are such a coward," Kyle sneered, thinking she had the upper hand. "Watch and learn how it's done."

Kyle spun around. She grabbed the heavy fabric of her pink dress and practically sprinted toward the art gallery.

Elliana watched her go. A dark, cold thrill rushed through her veins.

She plucked a flute of champagne from a passing waiter's tray. She took a slow sip, letting the bubbles burst against her tongue.

She walked leisurely toward the gallery, staying near the walls. When she reached the arched doorway, she stepped behind a heavy velvet curtain, hiding herself in the shadows.

Inside the gallery, Kyle was aggressively pushing her way through a circle of billionaires to stand directly in front of Beatrice.

Beatrice looked at Kyle's pink dress. Her expression turned to solid ice.

Kyle cleared her throat loudly.

Elliana leaned against the wall, took another sip of champagne, and waited for the bomb to go off.

Kyle shoved her way past a wealthy socialite, nearly knocking a glass of wine out of the woman's hand. She planted her feet directly in front of Beatrice Astor-Wexler.

The socialite scoffed, muttering "Trash" under her breath, but Kyle ignored her.

Kyle's eyes locked onto the massive oil painting hanging on the center wall. Autumn.

She threw her hands up in the air and let out a loud, theatrical gasp.

"Oh my god!" Kyle shouted. Her voice echoed harshly against the marble walls, cutting through the sophisticated murmur of the room. "This painting is absolutely breathtaking!"

Beatrice slowly turned her head. Her eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. She looked at Kyle with a chilling, predatory stillness.

Kyle took a deep breath and recited the words she had stolen from Marta.

"This masterpiece," Kyle announced to the room, pointing at the canvas, "is the ultimate symbol of pure, untainted love! It represents absolute loyalty and devotion!"

The temperature in the room plummeted.

The music seemed to stop. Every single person in the gallery froze. The silence was so heavy it felt suffocating. The old-money elites stared at Kyle in absolute horror.

Beatrice's face turned a sickly shade of gray. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped her champagne flute. The glass groaned under the pressure.

Kyle, completely oblivious to the deathly silence, kept going. "It is the soul of this estate! A true testament to a perfect marriage!"

Standing behind the velvet curtain, Elliana bit down hard on the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing out loud. The metallic taste of blood grounded her.

The painting was the exact gift Beatrice's ex-husband had given to his stripper mistress. It was the most humiliating public scandal in the family's history.

Beatrice took a slow, deep breath. She drew upon decades of high-society training to suppress the urge to physically assault the woman in the pink dress.

A slow, terrifyingly fake smile stretched across Beatrice's face.

"What a... unique perspective you have," Beatrice said. Her voice was devoid of any human warmth.

Kyle beamed. Her chest puffed out. She thought she had won.

Beatrice raised two fingers in the air. Instantly, Arthur, the head butler, materialized at her side.

"Arthur," Beatrice commanded, her voice ringing out clearly. "Take our special guest to the main hall. Bring out the vintage Burgundy collection. The entire reserve. We must celebrate her profound appreciation for art."

Kyle clapped her hands together. "Oh, thank you! You are too kind!"

Arthur bowed stiffly. He extended his arm toward the door. "Right this way, Madam."

Kyle strutted out of the gallery, her chin held high, looking like a peacock.

The crowd parted for her, their eyes filled with morbid pity. They knew exactly what was about to happen.

Beatrice watched Kyle leave. The fake smile vanished, replaced by pure malice. She snapped her fingers at a security guard standing by the wall and gave a sharp nod.

Elliana set her empty champagne glass on a side table. She smoothed the skirt of her Tom Ford gown.

She stepped out of the shadows and followed the crowd back into the main hall to watch the execution.