Elena Carter’s words left Adrian Shaw faintly displeased.
Before he could speak, however, Vivian Cole called him away.
“Mr. Shaw’s love life is truly enviable.”
“Yes, Elena is so lucky, marrying a man like Mr. Shaw.”
Vivian chimed in with a sweet smile, “Knowing Elena married so well, I’m genuinely happy for her.”
She walked over and linked arms with Elena, her grip leaving no room for refusal.
As the two drew close, Vivian’s lips curved, her voice a whisper meant for Elena alone:
“I don’t know what Adrian prepared for you tonight, but do you think it might just be another accessory to match my necklace?”
“Elena, you’re really like a pitiful dog. Truly pathetic.”
When she raised her eyes again, her gaze was soft, her expression intimate as she clung to Elena.
Elena wanted to pull back, but when she lifted her eyes, Adrian’s warning look stopped her. She swallowed her protest—this was not the time for conflict.
“Come on, let’s cut the cake together,” Vivian said with a practiced smile.
As they neared the Champagne Tower, Elena realized too late what was about to happen.
The glittering structure crashed down in an instant. She tried to move away, but the hem of her gown was deliberately pinned beneath a foot. The champagne flutes shattered across her, fragments slicing her skin, blood blooming scarlet against pale flesh.
Adrian’s eyes sharpened, and he instinctively stepped forward.
“Elena—”
But before he reached her, Vivian’s weak, tearful cry rang out:
“Adrian, my wrist—it hurts!”
He froze.
His stride shifted without hesitation, redirecting toward Vivian, who sat theatrically on the floor, clutching her wrist.
Adrian knelt, his face etched with concern. Without a second thought, he scooped her into his arms in a bridal carry and strode toward the exit.
As he passed Elena, his expression darkened with impatience.
“Vivian has always been delicate. I’ll take her to the hospital first. Yours are only superficial wounds—go later, on your own.”
And without waiting for her reply, he was gone.
Elena watched Vivian nestled smugly in Adrian’s arms, the faint red mark on her wrist displayed for Elena alone, a mocking smile tugging at her lips.
Dragging her battered body, Elena staggered toward the exit.
The guests had all come for Vivian’s birthday gala. Seeing Elena humiliated was entertainment enough; none thought to help her. She leaned against the wall, inch by inch, each step pulling fire through her wounds.
She remembered clearly—the moment the tower fell, Vivian had crushed her gown beneath her heel. And when Elena turned, Vivian had smiled triumphantly.
Elena knew what that smile meant.
Vivian had won.
A sharp pain twisted her stomach, metallic bitterness rushing up her throat. Before she could brace herself, she was vomiting blood into her hand, crimson staining her pale fingers.
“Miss, are you alright?” A waiter’s voice, hesitant and concerned.
Elena forced a strained smile. “I’m sorry… I dirtied the floor. Where’s the restroom?”
After he pointed the way, she dragged her trembling body toward the bathroom, rinsing the blood from her hands before resolving to head to Memorial Hospital.
But as she stepped into the lobby, her gaze caught a familiar figure.
When Damian Shaw saw her, the cold detachment in his eyes vanished, replaced with something she couldn’t decipher. His stride quickened toward her.
“What happened to you?”
Damian’s voice was low, dangerous, his sharp eyes cutting toward the waiter.
The young man flinched. “I—I’m not sure. They said the champagne tower in the private room collapsed… it may have struck her.”
“Who was inside?” Damian’s tone dropped to a growl.
“Miss Cole,” the waiter answered, trembling.
Damian’s eyes darkened, and it seemed he had already guessed the truth.
“Uncle,” Elena interrupted quickly, unwilling for him to press further.
“Let’s just go to the hospital.”
Without waiting for her protest, Damian noted the pain in her faltering steps and swept her effortlessly into his arms.
“Uncle, put me down! If someone sees—”
Her panic was real; if anyone witnessed this, scandal would be impossible to explain away. She buried her head in his chest as passing eyes turned toward them. She dared not move.
Damian’s gaze grew darker, his throat tightening as he swallowed hard. The unfamiliar surge of emotion rose—but he forced it down.
Not yet.
