Every camera in the room locked on us at once.
I had no choice.
I put on a perfect fake smile, walked over, and reached for Victoria's bracelet.
But the moment I leaned in, her hand tipped—and a full flute of champagne landed squarely on my dress.
Victoria clapped a hand over her mouth, tears flooding her eyes instantly.
"I'm so sorry, Deidre! My hand slipped. I didn't mean to!"
She was crying prettily, trembling all over, the picture of someone deeply wronged.
The whispers around us shifted direction immediately.
"What is wrong with that woman? Victoria was being gracious, and she goes and throws a drink on her?"
"Didn't you see? Victoria splashed her fir—"
"Victoria would never do that on purpose. Look at her crying like that, and Deidre's just standing there stone-faced. She's clearly the one making a scene!"
Everyone had seen exactly what happened.
Not one person spoke up for me.
I stood there in my soaked dress, dripping under every light in the room.
Clyde barely spared me a glance before hurrying over to console the teary-eyed Victoria, leaving me stranded alone in full public view.
"Oh wow, Deidre really went there! A wet-dress seduction at a public event—she must be desperate to move up."
"Get the camera on that. From this angle, she'll be front-page news by morning!"
"That figure, that cleavage. Unreal."
Gasps rippled through the crowd, punctuated by the relentless clicking of shutters.
I fled to the restroom. Clyde followed.
"Deidre, Victoria didn't do that on purpose. But honestly, the result worked out even better, didn't it?"
He held out a check as he spoke.
"I know tonight was rough on you. Consider this extra compensation."
I looked at the man in front of me, standing under the lights like some upstanding gentleman.
Too bad I knew exactly how disgusting he was underneath.
"Then thanks, I'll take it."
I didn't bother with politeness. I took the check.
The humiliation had already been paid for. Might as well make sure the money was, too.
I turned and walked into the restroom.
I took out my phone and sent a message to Noel Henson.
"Attorney Henson, I need you to draft an agreement for me."
The day before Victoria's new drama premiered—nine a.m. sharp—"Deidre Morton Escort Scandal" shot to number one on the trending list.
The attached photos were from a private club gathering I'd attended three months ago.
In them I wore a red dress, held a glass of wine, and was smiling while talking to a middle-aged man.
The angle was deliberately misleading, making it look intimate.
Comments poured in.
"Wow, spicy. She just got engaged and now escort photos surface? What kind of woman is she?"
"Run, Young Mr. Gilbert. Marry a woman like that and you're bringing home a ticking time bomb."
I closed the page and opened my own social media.
The comment section was already a wasteland.
"A slut like her finally gets what's coming? Hilarious. Thought you'd latched onto money, and now the whole internet's digging up your dirt."
"You think you're good enough to marry into the Gilbert family? Take a good look in the mirror."
"Sterling City's biggest slut. The title fits. Young Mr. Gilbert sure has interesting taste, hahaha."
"Heard she once knocked on a director's door just to land a magazine cover. Who knows if it's true, but with that face? I'd bet on it."
The comments were all abuse, wall to wall.
Once in a while someone tried to speak up for me and got buried instantly.
Then Clyde's phone rang. His mother.
