My hands curl. My teeth grit. I know exactly how much force it would take to rip his hand from the bone.
But I do nothing because my father and his goons have flanked me and one wrong move... there won’t be a tomorrow for me.
Eve stands on the platform, alone under the light. The crowd stares back, unmoved, every smile a knife. She is a curiosity. An aberration.
The MC raises his glass again. “To Eve!” he calls.
The room explodes with applause.
Eve closes her eyes. Just for a second. When she opens them, she scans for me. I see the crack in her armor.
I nod. Once. My fists are tight against my sides.They will fucking pay for breaking my beautiful girl.
The MC doesn’t stop with the first blow.
He circles Eve, voice swelling with the kind of joy only cruelty brings. “And let us not forget,” he says, “the hardship she overcame. A single mother, deceased now, may she rest—” He winks at the crowd, “—but not before leaving a legacy of her own. A daughter with ambition, but no pedigree. No bloodline.”
Lies… she’s a billionaire heiress.
And yet, they eat it up.
Every head turns, savoring the spectacle.
“Tell us, Eve,” the MC croons. “Is it true you once spent a night in a shelter? Was it frightening, surrounded by so many others just like yourself?”
Eve’s mouth flattens. She doesn’t speak. There’s a tremor in her hands.
The MC pushes on, drunk on the room’s attention. “Her mother, ladies and gentlemen, was a whore of the first order. But this girl—” He sweeps his hand like a stage magician. “—this girl is Westpoint’s triumph. She is the proof that even the lowest… the most inferior, can be domesticated. If only for a price.”
A few at the tables laugh. More just watch, expressions blank, as if this is all part of the after-dinner show.
Eve folds inward. It’s not much, just a tilt of the shoulders, a sag at the knees, but it is enough for me to see the collapse happening in real time.
Her eyes are dry. But only for a moment. Then I watch the tear, singular and slow, trace the line of her jaw.
My hands go numb.
Every muscle in my body draws tight, my vision tunneling to a red-lit corridor. I see myself moving, see the MC’s windpipe crushed under my knuckles. I see the scatter of crystal and bone across the stage.
I take the first step.
Bam’s hand slams onto my shoulder. He wrenches me back, impossible to resist. His voice is a growl, so low only I hear: “Not here, psycho. You’ll make it worse for her. And yourself. Cai has news. Just… wait. You can take it out on me after.”
He’s right, but I hate him for it.
The MC spins Eve for the crowd. “Let’s give her a hand, shall we?” He claps, slow and cruel. The room follows, a thunder of applause.
Eve stands frozen in the middle of it, cheeks streaked, mouth pinched.
I can’t look away.
Bam’s grip doesn’t loosen. I feel his pulse, racing to match mine. He’s ready to break me if he has to.
The MC bows, gesturing Eve off the stage. “You may return to your seat, Miss Allen. And may the generosity of our donors forever keep you from the gutter.”
She steps down, almost stumbles, but rights herself before she reaches the floor. She doesn’t look for me. She doesn’t look for anyone. Her eyes are locked on the exit, as if she can will the walls to open and swallow her whole.
The applause dies. Conversation resumes, louder than before, fueled by the fresh blood spilled for their entertainment.
