Gemma’s eyes swept over the sea of tuxedos and gowns and locked instantly onto the man standing near the center of the room.
Brion Hubbard.
He wore a bespoke black suit that seemed to absorb the light around him. He was listening to an older executive speak, his face an impenetrable mask of boredom and cold authority. Even surrounded by billionaires, his physical presence was suffocating—tall, broad-shouldered, carved from something harder than marble.
As if feeling the weight of her stare, Brion tilted his head up. His dark, piercing eyes cut through the distance and locked directly onto Gemma.
The impact of that gaze hit her chest like a physical blow. Her heart slammed against her ribs.
The memory of his charred, broken body pulling her from the wreckage flashed violently behind her eyes. Her throat constricted. A sudden, hot prickle of tears stung the corners of her eyes.
Brion’s jaw feathered. The muscle ticked under his skin. He noticed the moisture in her eyes, and the temperature around him seemed to drop ten degrees.
Alfonso, standing a step behind Brion, tracked his boss’s gaze and immediately tensed.
At the top of the stairs, Katelyn filled her lungs with air. She opened her mouth to scream Jair’s name to the press.
Gemma snapped out of her trance. Her body moved before her mind gave the order.
She stepped forward and planted the sharp heel of her stiletto firmly onto the trailing hem of Katelyn’s gown.
Katelyn threw her head back to yell, but her forward momentum was violently arrested.
The fabric pulled taut. Katelyn lost her footing entirely.
The intended scream of betrayal morphed into a pathetic, high-pitched yelp of pure panic.
Every head in the ballroom snapped upward. A blinding fusillade of camera flashes erupted from the media pit.
Katelyn flailed backward. Her hands scrambled for purchase and clamped down hard onto Gemma’s forearm. Her acrylic nails dug deep into Gemma’s skin.
Gemma didn’t pull away. She didn’t try to save herself. She leaned into the pull, using her own body weight to drag Katelyn down the first flight of stairs.
To the hundreds of people watching below, it looked exactly like a tragic accident: the clumsy best friend slipping, the devoted bride desperately trying to hold her up.
Katelyn bounced painfully down the marble steps, her knees slamming against the hard stone.
Gemma kept a vice grip on Katelyn’s arm, maintaining perfect posture as she descended. She leaned in, her lips brushing Katelyn’s ear.
“Say one wrong word,” Gemma whispered, her voice sharp as a scalpel, “and the Mendoza family files for bankruptcy by tomorrow morning.”
Katelyn choked back a sob, her spirit crushed by the physical pain and the threat.
They reached the platform. Brion was already standing there.
He stood at the foot of the steps like a towering wall of dark, seething rage. His gaze was locked onto Katelyn’s hands, which were still digging tightly into Gemma’s arm.
Gemma saw a deadly, manic violence brewing in Brion’s pupils.
She couldn’t let someone else be the one to ruin her.
Gemma wrenched her arm free from Katelyn’s grip with a violent twist and shoved her away.
Katelyn tumbled down the last three steps, collapsing in a crumpled, undignified heap directly onto the floor.
Right at Brion Hubbard’s feet.
