The lighting in the hallway leading to the restrooms was dim, bathed in red and purple neons. The music was muffled here, a dull throb in the background.

Iris checked her makeup in the mirror. Perfect. Not a smudge.

She pushed open the door and stepped back into the hallway.

A man was blocking her path.

He was young, maybe twenty-five, wearing a suit that was too shiny and a watch that was too big. He had the glazed look of someone who had consumed too much alcohol and too much of his father's money.

Leo Leone. The son of a shipping magnate. A notorious pest.

"Whoa," he said, leaning against the wall. "Where have you been hiding?"

Iris tried to step around him. "Excuse me."

He moved to block her again. "Don't be like that. I'm Leo. You look... expensive."

"I'm out of your budget," Iris said, her voice ice cold.

She tried to push past him, but he reached out and grabbed her wrist. His hand was clammy.

"Let go," she said.

"Just one drink," he slurred. "Come on, Red."

"Hey!"

A voice boomed from the end of the hallway.

Iris looked up. Hunter was standing there. He must have been coming to the VIP bar. He looked furious.

"Get your hands off her," Hunter shouted, striding toward them.

Leo looked at Hunter, then sneered. "Relax, grandpa. She's fair game."

Hunter reached them and shoved Leo's chest. "She said let go."

Leo stumbled back, releasing Iris's wrist. He looked at Hunter, recognizing him. "Rutledge? What is this, your escort?"

Hunter ignored him. He turned to Iris, his eyes filled with a mix of adrenaline and white-knight complex.

"Are you okay, miss? I..."

He stopped.

The red neon light flickered, illuminating Iris's face.

Hunter froze. His eyes widened, his pupils dilating. He blinked, once, twice. He looked at the red dress, the cleavage, the dark lipstick.

"Iris?" he whispered. It was a sound of pure disbelief.

Iris smoothed her wrist where Leo had touched her. "Hello, Hunter."

He shook his head, as if trying to clear a hallucination. "What... what are you doing here? You look..."

"Different?" she suggested.

"You look like a..." He didn't finish the sentence, but his eyes raked over her body with a hunger he hadn't shown in years.

Dorothea appeared behind him, breathless from chasing him in her heels.

"Hunter, what's wrong? Who is..."

She saw Iris. Her jaw dropped.

"Iris?" she squeaked.

She looked Iris up and down, her eyes narrowing instantly. She took in the dress, the setting, the man (Leo) lurking nearby.

She let out a small, theatrical gasp to cover her mouth.

"Oh my god," she said loudly. "Iris, are you... working here?"

The implication hung in the air. Prostitute.

Leo snickered. "How much, then?"

Hunter's face turned a deep shade of crimson. He looked at Iris with horror. Not because she was being insulted, but because he thought she was embarrassing him.

"Iris," he hissed. "Tell me you're not doing this. We haven't even filed the papers yet. Think of the family reputation."

Iris laughed. It was a dark, rich sound that bubbled up from her chest.

She stepped closer to Hunter. She was close enough to smell the scotch on his breath. She leaned in, her lips inches from his ear.

"I'm not working, Hunter," she whispered. "I'm celebrating."

"Celebrating what?" he asked, stiffening.

"My widowhood," she said.

She pulled back and winked at him.

Hunter looked like she had slapped him.

Leo, emboldened by the confusion, stepped forward again. "So, if you're not with him..."

He reached out and placed a hand on Iris's lower back, his fingers sliding toward her hip.

"I said, I'm fair game, right?" Leo grinned.

Hunter opened his mouth to shout again, but he was too slow.

Iris didn't think. She didn't hesitate.

Her hand shot out to the small service table next to them. There was a half-empty bottle of Grey Goose vodka sitting there, abandoned by a waiter.

She grabbed it by the neck.

In one fluid motion, she swung it.

Smash.

The heavy glass bottle connected with Leo's forehead. The sound was sickening-a wet thud followed by the shatter of glass.

Vodka sprayed everywhere, drenching Leo, Iris, and Hunter's suit.

Leo didn't even scream at first. He just dropped. He crumbled to the floor like a puppet with cut strings, clutching his head. Blood began to seep through his fingers, mixing with the alcohol on the carpet.

"My eye! My eye!" Leo started to wail, rolling on the ground.

Silence rippled outward from them. The music seemed to fade away. A circle formed instantly.

Hunter jumped back, brushing glass shards off his lapel. He stared at Leo, then at Iris, his eyes bulging.

"Iris!" he screamed. "What did you do? That's Leo Leone! His father is..."

"I don't care who his father is," Iris said. Her voice was calm. Her pulse hadn't even quickened.

She was still holding the jagged neck of the bottle.

A massive security guard-not Tiny, but someone new-pushed through the crowd. "What the hell is going on here?"

He saw Iris with the weapon. He reached for his radio.

Dorothea was screaming now, a high-pitched sound that grated on Iris's nerves. "She's crazy! She tried to kill him! Get her away from us!"

Hunter looked at Iris. He looked at the security guard. Iris saw the calculation in his eyes. He was wondering if he should step in, use the Rutledge name to protect her.

Then he looked at the blood. He looked at the crowd filming with their phones. He stepped back. He chose distance. He chose to save himself.

Iris dropped the bottle neck. It clattered on the floor.

She reached into her clutch. She pulled out the stack of cash she had taken from the black duffel bag earlier. It was about five thousand dollars, wrapped in a rubber band.

She snapped the rubber band off.

She walked over to where Leo was writhing on the floor. She stood over him.

"You touched me," she said. "I told you not to."

She let the bills fall from her hand. They fluttered down, covering his bloody face, sticking to the wet carpet.

"That's for the stitches," she said loud enough for the crowd to hear. "Keep the change for a therapy session."

Leo sputtered, spitting blood and money.

Hunter grabbed Iris's arm. His grip was hard, painful.

"Have you lost your mind?" he hissed. "You just assaulted him. The police are going to come. You're going back to jail, Iris. And I can't help you this time."

Iris looked at his hand on her arm. Then she looked at his face.

"Get your hand off me," she said.

"I'm trying to talk sense into you!"

"Sir, step away from the woman," the security guard barked, stepping closer.

Hunter let go, looking offended. "I'm her husband! Well, almost ex-husband."

"I don't care who you are," the guard said. He looked at Iris. "Ma'am, you need to come with me."

Iris squared her shoulders. She was ready to walk out. She was ready to fight if she had to.

"She's not going anywhere with you," a voice cut through the tension.

Sienna pushed through the crowd. She looked furious.

Sienna stood between Iris and the guard. She was half his size, but she had the posture of someone who owned the building.

"Do you know who I am?" she asked the guard.

The guard hesitated. "Miss Vance?"

"That's right," Sienna said. She pointed a manicured finger at Leo, who was being helped up by his friends. "That trash grabbed her. Twice. We have witnesses. And I'm sure if we pull the security footage, we'll see exactly where his hands were."

She turned to the guard. "If you touch her, my father pulls his investment in this club by morning. And then we sue Mr. Leone for sexual harassment."

The guard swallowed. He looked at Leo, then at Sienna. The math was easy. The Vance family money was old and heavy.

"I... I'll need to see the footage," the guard stammered. "But... okay. Just... please leave."

"We're leaving," Sienna said. She grabbed Iris's hand. "Come on, Iris."

They turned to go.

Hunter stepped in front of them again. He looked bewildered, his authority completely usurped by Iris's best friend.

"Iris," he said. He reached out, his eyes landing on her hand.

There was a small cut on her knuckle from the glass. A single drop of blood welled up.

"You're bleeding," he said. His voice softened. For a second, he was the man Iris used to love. "Let me... let me take you to a doctor. My car is outside."

Iris pulled her hand back as if he had burned her.

"Don't touch me," she said.

Dorothea was there, clutching his arm. "Hunter, leave her. She's obviously unstable. Look at her violence."

Iris looked at Dorothea. "Shut up," she said.

Dorothea gasped. "Hunter! She's insulting me!"

Hunter frowned. "Iris, apologize. Dorothea is just concerned."

Iris laughed again. It was a tired sound.

"Hunter," she said. She held up her bleeding hand. She splayed her fingers. "Look."

"What?"

"No ring," she said. "I'm not your wife. I don't answer to you. I don't apologize to your mistress. And I certainly don't need your ride."

"I'm just worried about you!" Hunter shouted. "You're acting like a different person!"

Iris stepped into his space.

"The Iris you knew is dead," she said. "You killed her. You bored her to death, and then you broke her heart. This is what was left underneath."

She turned to Sienna. "Let's go."

They walked past them. Hunter stood frozen, staring at her back. He could feel his eyes on her. He could feel the confusion radiating off him.

High above, on the darkened balcony of the owner's suite, a man watched the scene unfold.

Auguste Lindsey swirled the amber liquid in his glass. He had seen everything. The harassment. The bottle. The money. The ex-husband.

He watched the woman in the red dress disappear into the crowd.

"Garth," he said quietly.

A man in a sharp suit stepped out of the shadows. "Sir?"

"Who is she?"

"That's Iris Rutledge. Or... Gutierrez, now. Hunter Rutledge's ex-wife."

Auguste raised an eyebrow. "The quiet one? The one with the felony record?"

"That's the one."

Auguste took a sip of his drink. He smiled.

"She has training," he murmured. "That wasn't a lucky swing. Efficient."

"Sir?"

"Find out everything," Auguste said. "She's interesting. And I'm bored."