Angela Kane POV:
The music died. A thick, expectant silence fell over the ballroom.
Every eye in the room was locked on the unfolding drama—a hundred pairs of eyes feasting on my impending humiliation. Juliana brought a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide with feigned disbelief. She looked from the velvet box in Brett's hand to me, a flicker of triumphant cruelty in her gaze before it was quickly masked by teary-eyed wonder.
Brett opened the box. Nestled inside was a diamond tennis bracelet—the one that had belonged to my mother. He'd borrowed it months ago, claiming he wanted it professionally cleaned before the wedding. I'd never thought to ask for it back. Its stones caught the light of the chandelier and threw sparks of cold fire across the room.
He looked at Juliana, his voice resonating with practiced sincerity. "Jules, I know things have been difficult for you. I want you to have this, as a token of my appreciation."
He paused, letting the implication hang in the air. Then his eyes flicked to me—a casual, dismissive glance. His voice dropped, but it was pitched just loud enough for everyone nearby to hear. "Unlike some people, who treat loyalty like a cage."
A collective, stifled gasp rippled through the crowd. I could feel their pity, their morbid curiosity, their satisfaction at my downfall.
In my first life, this was the moment I had shattered. I remembered it with perfect clarity—my own voice, raw with pain, screaming at him. The tears streaming down my face. The way everyone had looked at me—not with sympathy, but with the detached interest reserved for a hysterical woman making a spectacle of herself.
But the girl who had cried was dead.
This time, I didn't cry. I didn't scream. I simply watched, my face a placid mask, like I was observing a mildly interesting piece of theater.
And then—as Brett and Juliana stood there, basking in their cruel victory, waiting for my inevitable breakdown—I did something they never expected.
I smiled.
It wasn't a happy smile. It was slow, cold, and touched with a pity more insulting than rage. The smile stopped them cold. Brett's confident smirk faltered. Juliana's teary gratitude froze on her face. My calm unnerved them far more than fury ever could.
Ignoring the confused stares, I turned and smoothly lifted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter's tray. The crystal felt cool and solid in my hand. Then I started walking.
I moved through the stunned crowd, my heels clicking a steady, deliberate rhythm on the polished marble. Each step was a death knell for the girl I used to be. I walked directly toward the two people who had destroyed me.
I stopped in front of them, my gaze lingering on the bracelet now clasped around Juliana's wrist. It looked cheap on her.
Juliana flinched, instinctively trying to pull her hand back, then caught herself, forcing a shaky smile. "Sister, I—"
Brett stepped slightly in front of her, a protective gesture that was purely for show. His brows furrowed. "Angela, don't make a scene. You'll only embarrass yourself."
I ignored him. I ignored them both. I raised my champagne flute.
The entire room held its breath. They expected me to throw the drink in his face. They expected me to smash the glass. Instead, my lips parted. My voice was quiet, yet it carried with perfect clarity through the silent hall.
I looked from Brett's wary face to Juliana's anxious one, and I gave them my cold, pitying smile.
"Congratulations."
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