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."

The next morning, Iris's head throbbed. Not from a hangover-she had only had one glass of champagne-but from the adrenaline crash.

She woke up in Sienna's guest room. Her phone had forty-two missed calls. Thirty from Hunter. Ten from Eleanor. Two from Kamala.

She ignored them all.

Then she saw a text from Gigi. Hunter's grandmother. The matriarch.

Tea at 10? I want to say goodbye properly.

Iris couldn't ignore Gigi. She was the only Rutledge who had treated her like a human being.

"I have to go back," she told Sienna over coffee.

"It's a trap," Sienna warned. "They're going to ambush you."

"I know," Iris said. "But I owe Gigi."

She borrowed a suit from Sienna. It was white, sharp, and tailored. She pulled her hair back into a sleek ponytail. She put on dark sunglasses to hide the lack of sleep.

When she went down to the garage, Sienna was leaning against the purple McLaren, dangling the keys from her finger.

"You're not taking the Porsche," she said. It wasn't a question.

"It's your car," Iris started to say.

"No," Sienna interrupted. "That place is a tomb. You need to show up looking like a resurrection. The Porsche is a scalpel. This," she said, slapping the hood of the McLaren, "is a statement. Take the statement."

Iris took the keys. The carbon fiber fob was light in her hand.

She drove the McLaren to the Rutledge estate in Greenwich. The gate guard did a double-take when he saw her in the purple supercar, but he opened the gates.

She walked into the main drawing room. They were all there. It was a tribunal.

Hunter sat on the sofa, looking haggard. Dorothea was next to him, wearing a pastel yellow dress, looking like a delicate flower. Eleanor and Kamala sat in high-backed chairs, looking like vultures.

When Iris entered, silence fell.

Dorothea stood up immediately. She picked up a teapot.

"Iris," she said, her voice trembling. "I'm so glad you came. I... I wanted to apologize for last night. I didn't mean to upset you."

She walked toward Iris, holding a cup of tea. Her hands were shaking. It was a perfect performance.

Iris didn't take the cup.

"Cut the act, Dorothea," she said.

Hunter stood up. "Iris! She's trying to be nice. She feels terrible about the misunderstanding."

"Misunderstanding?" Iris asked. "You mean the part where she called me a hooker in front of half of New York?"

Dorothea sniffled. A tear rolled down her cheek. "I just... I was confused! You looked so... different."

"I looked happy," Iris said. "I know that's confusing for you."

Eleanor slammed her hand on the armrest. "How dare you speak to her like that! You are a guest in this house now, Iris. Show some respect."

"Respect is earned, Eleanor," Iris said. "And you're overdrawn."

Before Eleanor could explode, the butler cleared his throat.

"Madam," he said. "Mr. Garth Burris is here."

The room went still. Garth Burris. The right hand of the Lindsey family. The fixers. The kings of New York.

Garth walked in. He was carrying a silver gift box. He ignored everyone and looked straight at Iris. His eyes were calculating.

"Mrs. Rutledge," he nodded to Eleanor. "Mr. Lindsey sends his regards. He heard it was... a time of transition for the family."

He placed the box on the table.

"A token," Garth said.

Hunter looked nervous. "Mr. Lindsey? Auguste Lindsey? Why would he..."

Garth didn't answer Hunter. He looked at Iris again.

"Ms. Gutierrez," he said. "Good to see you again."

Iris frowned. "Have we met?"

"Briefly," Garth said. "Last night. At Velvet."

Hunter stiffened. "You saw that?"

"We saw everything," Garth said. His tone implied that 'everything' included Hunter's cowardice.

Garth bowed slightly and left.

The silence he left behind was heavy. Hunter looked at Iris with new suspicion.

"Why does Auguste Lindsey know who you are?" he demanded.

"I don't know," Iris said honestly.

"Did you sleep with him?" Kamala shrieked. "Is that where you got the money?"

"Enough!"

A cane struck the hardwood floor.

Gigi stood at the top of the stairs. She looked frail, but her eyes were burning.