I don’t have to look to know who it is, but I do anyway. My eyes snap to the corner of the room, to the shadows where the real power in this room resides.
Gabriel Hollis.
Ryder’s father is standing alone, nursing a tumbler of amber liquid. He’s not looking at the donors. He’s not looking at his son.
He’s watching me.
His steel-gray eyes are locked on my face, unblinking, intense. He looks like a predator assessing a wounded animal. He knows. God, he probably knew before anyone else. He sees everything. And right now, he’s looking at me with that same cold, terrifying expression he’s worn for three years.
Judgment.
It’s the look of a man who knows the value of everything and has decided I’m worth nothing.
Look at what my son dragged in,his eyes seem to say.I knew you wouldn’t last.
Shame burns through me, hotter than the anger. He's right. That's the worst part. Gabriel built an empire from nothing; he recognizes weakness when he sees it. And I am weak. I let his son use me for years because I was desperate to be chosen.
I lift my chin, refusing to look away, refusing to let him see the crack in my veneer.Go to hell,I think, projecting the thought across the room.Your son is the problem, not me.
I turn my back on Gabriel Hollis and march toward Ryder. I’m going to drag him outside. I’m going to end this quietly. I’m going to salvage what’s left of my dignity.
"Ryder," I say, reaching for his arm. "We need to talk. Now."
He pulls away, stumbling a little. His eyes are glassy. "Babe! Where have you been? I was just telling James about the?—"
"We’re leaving."
"Relax, Blair. Don't be such a buzzkill. It’s a party."
"Ryder, I mean it?—"
The microphone screeches.
The sound cuts through the room like a gunshot. Conversations die instantly. Three hundred heads turn toward the small stage where the string quartet had been playing.
But it’s not the band.
It’s Vivienne Ashford.
She’s wearing a red dress that leaves nothing to the imagination, and she’s holding a champagne glass in one hand and the microphone in the other. She looks manic. Beautiful, but unhinged.
"Excuse me!" she shouts, her voice slurring slightly. "I’d like to propose a toast!"
Ryder stiffens beside me. "Oh shit."
My stomach drops through the floor.
"No," I whisper.
To the Hollis family!" Vivi yells, her voice slurring with champagne and venom. She sways dangerously on her heels, locking eyes with Ryder before her gaze slides over to me like I’m something she scraped off her shoe. "But specifically to Ryder. For promising me the world while playing house with his little toy."
She jabs a manicured finger in my direction, her lip curling.
"Look at her. God, Ryder, you weren't kidding. She really does look like a cheap knockoff trying to pass as designer."
The ballroom goes silent, and I feel the blood drain from my face, leaving me cold and exposed, as if she just stripped me naked in front of Emerald Hills’ entire elite.
"Vivi, enough," Ryder hisses, but he doesn't move toward me. He doesn't step between us.
