Bailey Douglas POV:
I didn't lower my head. I didn't apologize. For the first time in five years, the fear that usually choked me when Kane yelled was completely gone.
I calmly unbuttoned my soaked trench coat. I slipped it off my shoulders and let it drop straight onto the floor.
The heavy, wet fabric hit the priceless white Persian rug with a wet slap. Dark, filthy street mud immediately bled into the pristine white fibers.
Derrick stepped forward, his face hardening into the strict, authoritative mask he always wore. "Pick that up. Clean the rug. Now."
I looked up. My eyes swept over Derrick with total emptiness. "Let the maids clean it," I said, my voice flat.
I remembered being ten years old, kneeling on this exact floor, scrubbing until my fingers bled because Haleigh had "accidentally" knocked over a glass of milk and blamed me. I was done scrubbing.
I stepped around the coat and started walking toward the stairs.
Blake moved fast. He threw his arm out, blocking the bottom step. He sneered at me. "What's your problem? You get dumped out on the street and decide to come back here and throw a tantrum?"
Jameson set his champagne glass down. He walked over to Blake and gently pushed his arm down. He looked at me, his eyes running over my shivering frame. He tried to soften his voice, taking on that arrogant, pitying tone he used when dealing with a stray dog.
"Bailey, go upstairs and take a hot shower. You're making a mess."
I looked at his face. The face of the man who had promised to marry me, who had just spent the afternoon kissing another woman in the rain.
My stomach heaved. A violent wave of disgust hit me. I took a quick half-step backward, putting physical distance between us like he carried a disease.
Jameson froze. His hand, which had been reaching out to pat my shoulder, stopped dead in the air. He looked genuinely shocked by my revulsion.
From the center of the room, Haleigh saw his reaction. She immediately grabbed her chest and let out a weak, rattling cough.
Instantly, the tension around me vanished. All four men whipped their heads toward Haleigh. They abandoned me at the stairs and rushed back to the sofa.
Haleigh leaned weakly against Jameson's side. Her eyes were red. Her voice trembled perfectly. "Don't be mad at Bailey. She didn't mean to ruin my party. She's just having a bad day."
Kane's face turned red with anger. He pointed a finger at me from across the room. "You ungrateful bitch. She's defending you, and you just stand there looking like a psycho!"
I watched the terrible, pathetic play unfold. A cold smirk pulled at the corner of my mouth. I turned around and put my foot on the first stair.
"Wait," Haleigh called out.
I heard her bare feet pattering against the carpet. She ran up behind me, blocking the stairs. She was holding a small, black velvet box tied with a silver ribbon.
She held it out to me with both hands. Her smile was sweet and innocent. "I got you a gift, Bailey. Since you had to go on that 'business trip' today."
I stared at the box. I didn't reach for it. When we were kids, Haleigh gave me a "gift"—a hand-knit sweater with sewing needles hidden in the sleeves. I knew what her gifts meant.
"Take it, Bailey," Jameson commanded from the living room. His voice was hard. "Don't be ungrateful."
"She's sick, and she still thought of you," Derrick added, his tone dripping with disappointment. "Have a heart."
I felt the crushing weight of their stares. Four men, ready to tear me apart if I made their precious princess sad.
I slowly raised my pale hand. I took the heavy velvet box from her fingers.
The second the box touched my palm, I saw it. Haleigh's mouth twitched upward into a vicious, triumphant smirk.
My fingers paused on the velvet. I felt it. A tiny, frantic vibration coming from inside the dark box.
Haleigh immediately took a large step backward, putting distance between us. "Open it," she urged, her voice breathless.
"It's an antique brooch she bought at a Paris auction," Kane snapped. "Open it and say thank you."
My thumb rested on the metal clasp. The air in the grand foyer felt suffocating. I looked past Haleigh. I looked straight into Jameson's eyes. There was nothing in his gaze but blind indulgence for the woman beside him.
I closed my eyes. I pressed my thumb down.
*Click.*
The lid sprang open. There was no shine of vintage gold. There was only a blur of dark, hairy brown legs lunging out of the shadows.
A massive Brown Recluse spider dropped directly onto the bare skin of my hand.
Haleigh let out a deafening, theatrical scream. She threw her hands over her face and threw her body backward toward the floor.
"Oh my god! What is that!"
