Violet’s face twitched. She made a futile grab for the phone.
The girl zood in obediently. Her eyes went wide. ‘There’s an M,’ she blurted. ‘Tiny, but it’s there!’
A ripple went through the crowd.
‘That’s the designer’s signature, right? The M?’ soone whispered, loud enough to be not-whispering.
‘It says M. Bloody hell, it really is Mirabelle’s design!’
Violet’s face went from ghost-pale to lobster-red in two seconds flat. She snatched her phone back and mashed the power button like she was trying to murder it.
Too late. The whispers were already turning into open laughter. The kind that bites.
‘If you’re gonna steal,’ I said sweetly, ‘at least do it properly.’
I took two slow steps forward, stopping just short of her personal space, and gave her necklace a pointed once-over.
My brow furrowed slightly, like I’d just spotted sothing nasty in my drink. ‘That piece around your neck shouldn’t even be here. It’s the prototype—the very first design. And last I checked, that thing was locked behind glass at Nyx Collective’s flagship showroom.’
I tilted my head and gave her the kind of look reserved for particularly dumb criminals.
‘Stealing’s really your only talent, huh?’
For half a second, the room froze. You could hear a champagne bubble pop.
Then Yvaine cracked up, loud and savage. ‘So the necklace’s stolen too? Damn, is the Lin family that broke? Can’t even afford jewellery anymore?’
Violet looked like she wanted to lt straight through the marble floor. Her face was so red, it practically clashed with the lighting. She fidgeted with the necklace, probably feeling like it was burning a hole through her skin.
I saw the mont she thought about running. She shifted her weight, glanced sideways, just about to bolt—
When the ballroom doors flew open and a fresh wave of noise crashed in.
Rhys Granger had arrived. And right beside him, looking disgustingly smug in bubblegum pink, was Catherine Vance.
Rhys wore a sharp black suit, cold and expensive like sothing he’d nicked off a mannequin at Dior. Catherine floated next to him, not holding his arm but close enough that they might as well have been glued together.
Murmurs rippled across the room.
‘God, they look good together. Perfect match.’
‘Told you Rhys never liked Mirabelle. Catherine’s always been his real choice.’
My grin slipped. Just peeled right off my face.
Seeing them side by side in public hit . It wasn’t heartbreak. It wasn’t rage. It was more like reaching for a glass of champagne and tasting dishwater instead.
I knew Rhys too bloody well. He’d planned this.
Louisa was still in hospital. Which ant she wouldn’t see this. Wouldn’t hear about it until much later, after the whole social circle had already gotten cosy with the idea of Rhys and Catherine being a thing.
By then, Louisa, who hated Catherine with the passion of a thousand suns, would be trapped. Everyone would expect her to accept it.
After I’d refused to keep playing fiancée with him, this was his Plan B.
The plan was slick, sly, and absolutely filthy.
I thought back to the last public event I’d dragged myself to with Rhys.
We’d arrived together, technically, but he peeled off the second we said hi to the hosts. Left standing there like a coat rack while he spent the night chatting golf swings and table football with his idiot friends.
I should’ve clocked it then. Rhys Granger was never going to love the way I wanted.
I got it now. The weird glances his friends kept sneaking at that party weren’t about my dress or my hair. They were pity.
And God, thinking about it still made my throat burn. Like swallowing glass.
I blinked hard, shoved it down, and dragged Yvaine away.
Yvaine threw a death glare over her shoulder. Then she said, real loud, ‘Imagine bringing your side chick to such a party. So people have thicker skin than a concrete bunker.’
Catherine stomped up to us, blocking my path.
‘Mira,’ she said, flashing this tragic, I’m-so-sorry face. ‘I didn’t know you’d be here. Rhys and I just got together to talk about work, and then he said he didn’t have a date, so he asked to co.’
I stared at her.
‘Right. Total coincidence. That why you’re dressed like a Valentine’s Day massacre?’ I flicked my fingers at her sparkly pink gown. ‘That your usual work outfit now?’
Catherine blinked. It hit her a second too late that I wasn’t playing nice anymore.
She used to have pegged. Sweet, soft, desperate for Rhys’s approval. I used to eat shit with a smile if it ant he’d look at twice.
Not tonight.
Catherine clutched her hands so tight I could see the blood leave her knuckles. Her eyes went glassy fast, like she was about to start sobbing on cue.
‘It’s all my fault,’ she said, voice trembling. ‘I shouldn’t have co with Rhys. Please don’t be mad.’
Before I could tell her where to shove her apology, Rhys strolled over. He took one look at Catherine and imdiately switched into Knight-in-Shining-Dumbass mode.
His gaze flicked to . For a split second, sothing flared in his eyes—surprise, maybe even a hint of regret—but he snuffed it out quick, like it was illegal to look impressed by now.
‘Mira, don’t start,’ he said sharply. ‘I brought her. It’s on .’
I smirked. ‘I’m not starting anything. She’s the one fake-crying like it’s open-mic night.’
Rhys didn’t believe a word of it. He shot a warning glare, grabbed Catherine’s wrist, and yanked her away.
Yvaine flashed his back a very enthusiastic middle finger.
‘Think he’s just flaunting Catherine to piss off?’ I said, reaching for a drink I didn’t even want.
Yvaine snorted. ‘Partly, yeah. But mostly? He’s here to sniff around the Laurents. My brother heard half this bloody room’s trying to cosy up to the young heir tonight.’
‘Emtt told you that?’ I asked.
She nodded. ‘Straight from the horse’s mouth. Clive Granger was supposed to show up himself, but he’s stuck at the hospital with Louisa. So he shoved golden boy out the door instead.’
Sothing Catherine had said earlier kept nagging at . ‘Wait. Are Catherine and Rhys... working together now?’
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