The ballroom was a sea of diamonds and black ties. It was Anona's birthday, but the banner above the stage felt like a tombstone.
Anona wore the dress Harrison had sent anonymously. Emerald green silk that clung to her frame like liquid armor. Alexander had sneered at it, asking whose credit card she had stolen.
Christy Shaw took the stage. She tapped the microphone.
Good evening, everyone. Tonight, we celebrate Anona. But... we also have to share some difficult news.
The lights dimmed. The massive screen behind the stage flickered to life.
A video played. Grainy footage of Anona entering a motel room at 2 AM.
The crowd gasped.
It was footage of Anona meeting her private investigator last week. But edited, it looked like a sordid tryst.
Alexander walked onto the stage, looking devastatingly sad. Anona... we tried to help you. Your instability... it's hurting the company.
Flashes popped like gunfire. Anona stood at the foot of the stage, alone.
Christy walked down the steps, a look of faux concern plastered on her face. Anona, honey. Just admit you need help. Alexander has a bed waiting for you at Serenity Hills.
A trap. If she admitted to mental instability, the prenup voided her rights. They would take the baby. They would take her trust fund.
Anona looked at Christy. Then at Alexander.
She smiled. It was a terrifying, broken thing.
She walked up the stairs. She grabbed the microphone from Alexander's hand.
Since we're watching movies, she said, her voice echoing through the hall, let's watch the director's cut.
She walked to the AV podium, and with a move so swift no one registered it, she swapped a USB drive in the presentation laptop.
The screen glitched. The motel footage vanished.
In its place, high-definition security footage from Alexander's office appeared.
Alexander and Christy were on the couch. But it wasn't the sex that silenced the room. It was the audio.
As soon as we commit her, Christy's voice rang out, clear and sharp, the trust fund unlocks. We can pay off the debt to Vanguard.
She's weak, Alexander's voice replied. She'll fold.
The ballroom went dead silent.
Anona turned to Alexander. Is this the instability you were talking about?
Alexander's face drained of color. He lunged for the power cord, but the system was locked. He stared, not at the screen, but at her. This wasn't the work of a mastermind. She must have paid someone, stolen a file. A desperate, clumsy move. He had underestimated the threat.
You bitch! Christy shrieked, covering her face as the cameras turned on her.
Alexander grabbed Anona's wrist, his grip bruising. You ruined us!
You ruined yourself, Anona spat.
Security guards rushed the stage, unsure who to tackle.
A sharp pain ripped through Anona's abdomen. Stress.
She stumbled, her vision blurring. The floor rushed up to meet her.
She didn't hit it.
Strong arms caught her.
Harrison Sterling stood there. He had come out of the shadows.
He took off his tuxedo jacket and draped it over Anona's shoulders, shielding her from the cameras.
He looked at Alexander. The look was a death sentence.
This circus is over, Harrison said. I'm taking her.
Alexander opened his mouth, but Harrison's glare silenced him.
Harrison scooped Anona up against his side, guiding her through the stunned crowd.
Don't look at them, he murmured into her hair. Look at me.
Anona buried her face in his shirt, inhaling the scent of sandalwood and safety, as he walked her out of hell.
