The music cut out abruptly. The DJ, sensing the shift in the room's atmosphere, killed the track. The silence that followed was heavier than the storm outside. Hundreds of eyes turned toward the entrance.
Araminta stood shivering, a puddle forming around her worn heels.
Blossom Vega stopped laughing. She brought a manicured hand to her mouth, her eyes widening in theatrical shock. "Oh my god," she said, her voice carrying clearly across the room. "Is that... is that the help? Did the plumbing burst in the servants' quarters?"
A ripple of laughter moved through the crowd. It was a low, ugly sound.
Araminta felt the blood drain from her face. She looked at Javen, pleading silently. Say something. Tell them I'm your fiancée.
Javen released Blossom's waist and walked toward her. For a split second, Araminta thought he was coming to shield her. Her shoulders relaxed an inch.
He stopped in front of her and snatched the folder from her hands. He looked at the smear of red blood on the white cover. His nose wrinkled.
"You got blood on it?" he hissed, his voice low and venomous. "You ruin everything you touch, don't you? Disgusting."
Araminta stared at him, her mouth opening and closing. "I... I got cut. On the yacht. Alfonse..."
"Stop talking," Victoria Doyle commanded. She stepped up beside her son, her posture rigid. She turned to the crowd, her face transforming into a mask of gracious hospitality. She raised a microphone.
"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience," Victoria announced, her voice booming. "We have a wonderful surprise. Tonight, we celebrate the union of two great families. I am thrilled to announce the engagement of my son, Javen Doyle, to the beautiful Blossom Vega!"
The room erupted in applause.
Araminta felt the floor tilt beneath her feet. The sound of clapping was like physical blows. "Engagement?" she whispered, the word scraping her throat. "But... what am I?"
Javen looked down at her. His eyes were cold, dead things. "Araminta, look at yourself. Look at the reality. Doyle Industries needs the Vega capital. You? You are a financial black hole."
Blossom glided over, linking her arm through Javen's. She rested her head on his shoulder, beaming at Araminta with predatory triumph.
"We have a contract," Araminta choked out. "I am the Donaldson heir..."
"Donaldson?" Richard Doyle, Javen's father, laughed from the sidelines. It was a bark of a laugh. "That bankrupt name? You have nothing. You are a parasite we've been feeding for ten years."
Flashes popped. The media had been let in. They swarmed forward, cameras clicking rapidly, blinding Araminta.
Javen turned to the nearest camera, his face settling into a look of practiced concern. "I apologize for the scene," he said smoothly. "Miss Donaldson has been struggling with her mental health for some time. My family has tried to help her, out of charity, but she has these... delusions. She believes she is part of the family."
"Liar!" Araminta screamed. She lunged for the microphone, desperation giving her a burst of strength.
Two security guards were on her instantly. Heavy hands clamped onto her arms, twisting them behind her back. Pain shot through her shoulders.
"Get off me!" she shrieked, kicking out.
Javen leaned in close, pretending to calm her down for the cameras. His lips brushed her ear, his breath hot.
"If you make another sound," he whispered, "I will call the facility. Griffin's life depends on a steady supply of some very expensive, very specific medication, doesn't it? It would be a shame if the sanatorium's pharmacy had a... clerical error tonight."
Araminta went rigid. The fight drained out of her body instantly. Griffin. Her little brother. He was the only thing that mattered.
Javen pulled back, smiling sadly for the press. "See? She's calming down. Please, take Miss Donaldson to rest. She's having an episode."
The guards began to drag her backward. Her heels scraped against the marble.
"Watch the carpet!" Blossom called out, her voice shrill. "That's a Persian import! Don't let her mud ruin it!"
Araminta was hauled past the faces of people she had known since childhood. People she had dined with. They looked away, or worse, they smirked. She was being erased in real-time.
The guards didn't take her to her bedroom. They dragged her down the hall to the servants' wing and shoved her into a small, dusty storage room filled with old chairs and boxes.
Araminta fell to her knees as they released her.
The door slammed shut. The lock clicked with a finality that echoed in her bones.
She was alone.
She scrambled to the door, pounding on it once. "Let me out!"
Silence.
She sank to the floor, the adrenaline crashing. She pulled her knees to her chest, shivering violently in her wet dress. She reached for her phone.
No signal. The bars were greyed out. The estate had signal jammers for high-security events.
She opened the news app, which had cached the latest headlines.
SCANDAL AT DOYLE ESTATE: DESTITUTE SOCIALITE ATTACKS NEWLY ENGAGED COUPLE.
The comments were already pouring in.
Gold digger.
Psycho.
She looks like a drowned rat.
Araminta stared at the screen until her vision blurred with tears. She wiped them away aggressively, smearing mascara across her cheek. Crying wouldn't save Griffin.
Javen had crossed the line. He had threatened her brother.
She reached into the hidden pocket of her dress, near her ribcage. Her fingers closed around a small, cold object. It was an old, tarnished lapel pin-the crest of the Donaldson family.
She squeezed it until the metal edges dug into her palm.
"You want a villain?" she whispered to the empty room. "I'll give you a villain."
