The sharp edge of the gold invitation scraped against Julian's suit lapel. He stared down at the embossed Sterling Group logo. His lips parted, but no sound came out; for once, his arrogance had no ready answer.
I did not wait for him to find his voice. I turned my back on his ruined expression and walked straight to Arthur's waiting car.
The next afternoon, rain still threatened the city skyline. I sat in a booth at a downtown cafe, checking the final logistics for the Sterling charity gala on my tablet. The scent of roasted espresso beans usually calmed me. Today, it merely served as background noise.
"Hazel!"
The shrill voice sliced through the low hum of the cafe.
I did not look up from my screen. I knew that pitch. Seven years ago, Clara had used that exact frequency to announce her fake leukemia diagnosis, sobbing into Julian's chest while I stood in the hallway holding his dry cleaning.
Clara Bennett stomped toward my table. She wore a tailored crimson dress, her makeup flawless, her expression twisted into an ugly sneer.
"You think you can just waltz back into town and ruin my life?" Clara shouted, slamming her hands flat on my table.
I calmly saved my document and locked the tablet. "I have no interest in your life, Clara. I barely remembered you existed until yesterday."
"Liar!" She grabbed a steaming latte off a passing waiter's tray. The waiter yelped, stepping back. Clara ignored him, glaring down at me. "Julian came home last night looking like a ghost. He wouldn't even speak to me. What did you say to him? Did you threaten him?"
"I handed him an invitation," I replied. "If a piece of paper destroys his peace of mind, that is a reflection on him, not me."
"You are trying to steal him back!" Clara hissed. She leaned closer, her knuckles white around the paper cup. "You always were a jealous, pathetic loser. You couldn't give him a child, so now you want to take mine away?"
"You don't have a child," I pointed out, my voice flat.
Clara's eyes flashed with manic fury. "I will! Once Julian secures the Croft board, we are starting IVF. And you are not going to interfere."
"I assure you, I have better things to do than stalk my ex-husband." I picked up my water glass. "Now, leave. You are making a scene."
Clara glanced around the cafe. A few patrons were already recording on their phones. She smirked, a cruel, calculating glint appearing in her eyes. She shifted her weight, pretending her ankle gave out.
With a theatrical gasp, she lunged forward, hurling the scalding latte directly at my chest.
She aimed for my silk dress. A ten-thousand-dollar piece ruined in seconds, accompanied by third-degree burns. A classic Clara tactic: inflict maximum damage, then cry clumsy victim.
I anticipated the move. I shifted my chair sideways, leaning hard to the left.
The boiling brown liquid missed my shoulder by an inch. It splashed wildly across the table, sailing right past me and splattering heavily onto the chair opposite mine.
Directly onto Clara's open Himalayan Birkin bag.
The hot coffee soaked the pristine leather, pooling inside the bag and ruining the silk lining, her phone, and her designer wallet.
Clara froze. She stared at the dripping brown mess inside her bag, her mouth hanging open.
"My bag," she whispered, her voice trembling. "My bag!"
"You really should watch your step," I said, unbothered.
Clara snapped. Her face flushed purple. She let out a feral shriek and raised her hand, aiming a vicious slap at my face. "You bitch!"
Before her hand could descend, a massive figure stepped out from the shadow of a nearby pillar.
Luke, my personal security detail, moved with terrifying speed. He caught Clara's wrist mid-air. His grip was unbreakable. With a sharp twist, he forced her arm down, slamming her hand flat against the coffee-stained table.
Clara screamed, struggling against his iron hold. "Let me go! You're breaking my arm!"
"Do not move," Luke ordered, his voice a low rumble that brokered no argument. He kept her pinned, his eyes scanning the room for any other threats.
I stood up, brushing an imaginary speck of dust off my skirt. I looked down at Clara, who was now panting and squirming against the table.
"You always were reckless," I told her. "But attacking me in public? That is just stupid."
Clara bared her teeth. "Julian will destroy you for this! He will ruin your pathetic little life!"
The heavy glass door of the cafe violently swung open, crashing against the doorstop.
Julian stood on the threshold, his chest heaving, his eyes wide as he took in the scene. He stared at the spilled coffee, the ruined bag, and finally, Luke pinning Clara to the table.
"What are you doing?" Julian roared, charging forward. "Let her go!"
