Altagracia turned away from Garrison's piercing gaze. Her heart was beating a little too fast, but she forced her breathing to remain steady.
She took a crystal flute of champagne from a passing waiter and walked toward the edge of the terrace to catch her breath.
Before she could take a sip, a shadow fell over her.
Preston Yates, the heir to a shipping fortune, stood blocking her path. He was flanked by two of the mean girls who had been whispering earlier. Preston had a smug, punchable smile on his face.
"Altagracia," Preston drawled, looking her up and down. "I have to say, the dress is an improvement. Much better than the cheap disco ball look you usually go for."
One of the girls giggled, covering her mouth. "I guess almost dying really does knock some sense into you."
Up on the second-floor interior balcony, Garrison stood in the shadows. He held a glass of bourbon. His assistant, Alex, stood a step behind him.
"Should I have security intervene, sir?" Alex asked quietly. "It is the Blanchards' event."
Garrison raised a hand, his eyes fixed on the scene below. "No. Let's see if the little fox has teeth."
Down on the floor, Altagracia didn't flinch. She didn't throw her drink in Preston's face. She didn't raise her voice.
She took a slow, deliberate sip of her champagne. Then, she lowered the glass and looked Preston dead in the eye.
"Preston," she said, her voice smooth and chillingly calm. "I was reviewing some market data this morning. Your family's trust fund returns for the last quarter were absolutely abysmal. Down four percent. Your father must be furious."
Preston's smug smile vanished instantly. The color drained from his face. "How... how do you know that?"
Altagracia didn't answer him. She turned her cold gaze to the girl who had giggled.
"And you, Chloe," Altagracia said softly. "You might want to spend less time worrying about my wardrobe, and more time wondering why your fiancé was buying bottles of Dom Pérignon for a blonde at a Soho club at 3 A. M. last night."
Chloe gasped, taking a stumbling step backward. Her face turned bright red.
Altagracia took one step forward. The sheer force of her presence made all three of them shrink back.
"If any of you ever speak to me with that tone again," Altagracia whispered, her voice dropping to a lethal register, "I will personally ensure your family's stocks hit the floor in the first hour of trading tomorrow. Do you understand me?"
Preston swallowed hard, a bead of sweat breaking out on his forehead. He nodded quickly, grabbed Chloe's arm, and practically dragged her away into the crowd.
On the balcony, Garrison let out a low, rough chuckle.
He took a sip of his bourbon. The burn of the alcohol matched the sudden heat in his chest. She wasn't just playing dress-up. She was ruthless.
He set his glass down on the railing and turned toward the stairs.
Down below, Altagracia watched the pests scurry away. She felt a dark sense of satisfaction.
Then, she saw him approaching.
Julian stepped out of the crowd, his eyes fixed on her. He had seen the entire exchange. He looked confused, angry, and determined to reassert his dominance over her.
The string quartet finished their song. The butler stepped to the microphone and tapped his glass.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the first dance of the evening," the butler announced.
By tradition, the birthday girl had to choose a partner to open the floor.
Julian adjusted his tie. He walked straight toward Altagracia, a confident, slightly condescending smile forming on his lips. He was going to put her back in her place.
Altagracia braced herself, her fingers tightening around the stem of her champagne glass.
