“You know you’ll play with all of them until they’re sobbing at your feet,” Sue told her.
“We’ll see,” Janie replied, unoffended. It was hard to offend a woman with no shame. She skimmed a glance over the room—Tosh, Candy, Torie, Zach, Cass, Harmony—as if cataloging them, then let herself be swept back into the crowd. Meanwhile, tension near the dance floor mounted.
Torie slowly rose, her chair scraping back, her legs wobbling a little. Before anyone else, Harmony caught it—the bad decisions taking shape in Torie’s eyes. With a dangerous kind of grace, Torie navigated the dance floor, weaving through couples. Nearby, Candy laughed, unaware.
Torie’s smile flashed—sharp, dangerous. “It’s the slut and her puppet,” she announced, her laugh cracking through the music.
Heads turned.
Candy blinked, already used to Torie’s outbursts. “What are you talking about?”
“You and Tosh!” Torie shouted. “You’ve been sneaking around like I’m blind!”
Tosh froze mid-laugh, color draining from his face. “Torie, not here—”
But she was already closing the distance, the room splitting open around her. “Where then? The beach? Her bed? Yours?”
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Cass reached for Harmony’s arm. “Do something.”
“I am,” Harmony said. “I’m watching.”
Candy’s expression hardened. “You should talk about faithfulness, Torie. How’s thathusbandof yours?”
Torie’s hand moved faster than thought. The slap echoed through the ballroom. For a second, everyone stopped breathing. Then the whispers began.
Tosh grabbed Torie’s wrist. “You’ve lost your mind.”
“Maybe I finally found it!” she spat, yanking free. “You think you can humiliate me and walk away clean? You obviously aren’t aware of what I know.”
“What do you know?” Tosh demanded.
She smiled, eyes wild. “Enough to ruin you.”
Candy turned toward Harmony, trembling. “You’re enjoying this.”
Harmony’s lips parted. “Of course not.” The look she gave Candy said otherwise.
Someone else in the room clocked the exchange. Harmony felt the weight of a gaze on her, sharp and assessing. When she glanced toward the back wall, all she caught was the briefest glimpse of a man in a dark suit turning away.
Near the bar, Janie watched the scene over the rim of her glass, eyes glittering with delight. “And they sayI’mthe problem.” She drifted toward a new partner as if chaos was just another song.
At the far side of the ballroom, Mary had been drinking too much white wine, her movements sharp with anger. She approached Tosh like a storm disguised as a woman.
“You think this is funny?” she hissed. “You and your games. You play with everyone and don’t care about the mess left behind.”
“Mary, not tonight,” he said, exasperated.
“You talk about donations and goodwill, but no one cares when real damage is done.” The band kept playing, but no one was dancing anymore.
Mary’s voice cracked, raw and furious. “You think the island forgets? It remembers everything. Every scream. Every sin.”
Harmony appeared beside her, a calming hand on her arm. “Mary, come outside. Let’s take a breath.”
Mary turned, eyes wet, voice trembling. “You are far from sinless. You write about all of us as if we aren’t real. You write our pain like it’s yours to use, like we’re disposable without real feeling. How dare you!”
Harmony’s expression softened. “I write what I see. You deserve to have your story told.”
“I need justice,” Mary whispered, breaking apart.
