The champagne tower crashed down, glass shattering, liquid spraying everywhere. Screams erupted as the crowd scrambled back.
"Boys, tear it up." The lead thug's voice scraped like gravel. "Fifty grand a head. I take the heat for any fallout."
A chorus of raucous shouts exploded from his crew. "You got it, Sis! Consider this part of the premium service."
They surged forward—muscles rippling under tight shirts, tough, ruthless, efficient. They plowed into Sara Graves's gaggle of toxic friends, shoving them aside like ragdolls. The private room descended into chaos.
I didn't hesitate.
I darted through the confusion, wound my hand into Sara's hair, and yanked her head back. *Smack. Smack.* Two sharp slaps echoed through the room.
She tried to claw back, but Ava Finch was faster. Ava drove her heel into the small of Sara's back. Sara stumbled in her eight-centimeter stilettos, knees hitting the floor with a heavy thud.
Right in front of me.
No mercy. I gripped her hair tighter, forcing her face up, and delivered two more stinging slaps.
Just as satisfaction began to settle in—
The door burst open.
Adrian Vance stormed in. Disheveled. Chest heaving with fury.
"Stop it! All of you, stop!"
His face was a mask of ice, eyes burning with suppressed rage. He shoved me aside hard enough to make me stumble, then immediately scooped Sara up from the floor.
Sara, ever the performer, dissolved into tears and nestled deeply into his embrace. Her face was already swelling. "Husband... how could she be so barbaric? It must be so hard for you, having to be with this kind of woman just for my sake."
Adrian shot me a look of pure loathing. "Hailey Henson, if you have a problem, come at me. You do not touch Sara."
His voice dropped an octave. Menacing. Cold.
"Apologize to Sara. Now. Admit your mistake, or I'll have your father come down here and teach you some manners."
I looked at Adrian. At how tightly he held her. At the depth of tenderness and heartache in his eyes—something I had never witnessed in our years together.
It wasn't that his personality was naturally cold.
It wasn't that he was too busy with work to care.
It was simply that I wasn't the one he loved.
A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I plucked the cigarette from the fingers of the male model beside me, took a long, hard drag, and blew a cloud of smoke directly into Adrian's face.
"Adrian Vance." My voice dripped with disdain. "You want me to apologize to a mistress? Are you insane, or is your skull full of water?"
I stepped closer, eyes locking onto his—
And jammed the burning end of the cigarette onto the back of his hand.
"Leash your dog," I hissed. "Don't let it bark at me. Push me too far, and I'll drag the entire Vance family down to hell with me."
Adrian hissed through his teeth, jerking his hand away. Reflexively, he raised his arm to strike—
But the male model stepped in, shielding me with his own body.
"Mr. Vance." The model's voice was smooth as silk. "You can't hit a woman. Especially not such a beautiful one."
Adrian watched me—tucked safely in another man's arms, my hand resting casually on the model's waist.
His control snapped.
"Hailey Henson," he roared. "You actually came to a club to find gigolos? You just gave birth, and you're this desperate?"
Sara supported Adrian as he straightened, shooting me a look of triumphant mockery. "Adrian, maybe Miss Henson has always been... hungry. Remember back then? She was stripped naked and groped by eighteen thugs, and she didn't get hurt at all. Maybe she enjoyed it. Maybe she had the time of her life playing with eighteen men."
Adrian's expression twisted. His gaze filled with a cruel, resentful light.
"Hailey." His voice was a sneer. "Back then, when they stripped you... why didn't you resist?"
He stepped forward, words like acid. "Is it really like Sara said? Did you sleep with all eighteen of them? Did you beg those thugs to ravage you?"
I stared at him.
The blood drained from my face.
This was the man I had adored. The man I had loved.
His words were ice blades, stabbing straight into my heart.
I pushed the model aside and rose slowly. My eyes were bloodshot as I glared at him.
"Adrian Vance, you are an animal. Go to hell."
I grabbed a wine bottle from the table and smashed it against the floor.
*Crash.*
Glass shards exploded outward. My voice rose above the ringing silence—cold and final.
"Adrian Vance, back then you hired people to humiliate me. Today you belittle me again."
I turned on my heel and strode toward the door.
"I will get justice for myself."
Behind me, Adrian's voice drifted out, thick with concern.
But not for me.
"Sara, where did that crazy woman hurt you? Let's get you to the hospital."
The crisp night wind hit my face at the hotel entrance, drying the tears on my cheeks. With trembling fingers, I dialed a number.
"Uncle Walter." My voice was steady. "This is Hailey Henson. I have a proposition."
Hesitant silence on the other end. I cut through it coldly.
"I hold twenty percent of the Vance Group's equity. I can help you take the company. In exchange, I want Adrian Vance destroyed."
The silence stretched.
Then a deep, firm voice replied. "Alright. Thirty minutes. Meet me at the café."
