Allie Valenzuela POV:
"Look at that dress," Kasey chirped, her voice a weaponized form of sympathy. "It's completely ruined now. How embarrassing for you." She leaned in, her whisper a hot, foul breath against my ear. "Then again, you're probably used to making a mess of things, aren't you?"
I stood frozen, the sticky dampness of the champagne seeping into my skin. The stares of the people around us felt like tiny needles. I was a spectacle. A joke. And Benjamin… Benjamin was just standing there, paralyzed. He was looking at Kasey, then at me, his face a mask of helpless confusion. He did nothing. He said nothing.
In that moment, a memory, sharp and vivid, pierced through the fog of my humiliation. It was from three years ago. We were in a tense negotiation with a hostile company trying to execute a takeover. Their CEO was a notorious bully. He had cornered me in a hallway after a brutal meeting, his voice low and threatening, backing me against a wall. I had never felt so small, so scared.
Benjamin had rounded the corner and seen it. Without a word, he had placed himself between me and the bully. He hadn't raised his voice. He had just stood there, a solid, immovable wall, and stared the man down until he retreated. Later, he had looked at me, his eyes full of a fierce, protective fire. "No one ever gets to treat you like that, Allie. Not while I'm around."
Where was that man now?
My own father, the formidable titan of industry, had once marveled at my unwavering faith in Benjamin. "I've never seen you trust anyone like this, Allie-cat," he'd said, a hint of concern in his voice. "I hope he proves worthy of it."
He hadn't.
Benjamin had never once, not a single time, told Kasey to stop. He had placated. He had excused. He had redirected. But he had never drawn a line. He had never protected me. His inaction was a betrayal more profound than any insult Kasey could ever hurl.
A switch flipped inside my head. The humiliation, the anger, the years of buried frustration—it all coalesced into a single point of cold, hard clarity. The last embers of my affection and respect for him died out, leaving nothing but ash.
My eyes, when I lifted them to meet his, were no longer hurt or shocked. They were ice.
It was Mr. Chen, the CFO I had been speaking with, who finally broke the spell. He smoothly stepped forward, handing me his own pocket square.
"A regrettable accident," he said, his voice calm and authoritative, his eyes fixed on Kasey with clear disapproval. "Ms. Valenzuela is one of the brightest minds in this industry. Her value is in her intellect, not her attire." He then turned his gaze to Benjamin. "You run a fine company, Blanchard. You should be careful to ensure all your personnel reflect its high standards."
It was a public rebuke, a clear defense of me, and a subtle warning to Benjamin.
Mr. Chen then looked at me, a genuine warmth in his eyes. "Allie, if you ever decide you want a change of scenery, my door is always open. We value talent, and we protect our people."
Kasey's face, which had been alight with victory, crumpled into a mask of confusion. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. She had tried to shame me, and instead, I was being praised and offered a job.
A low, humorless laugh escaped my lips. It was over. All of it.
I met Kasey's furious gaze. "You know what, Kasey?" I said, my voice dangerously soft. "You're right. It is a party. We should have some fun."
I walked over to the bar, my ruined dress clinging to me, and picked up a bottle of tequila and two shot glasses. I placed them on a nearby table with a sharp click.
"Let's have a drink," I said, looking directly at her. "Let's see who can really handle their liquor."
Kasey looked flustered. This was not in her script.
I poured a shot, the amber liquid glinting under the chandelier light, and pushed it toward her. "Come on. Don't be shy."
My own upbringing, a whirlwind of diplomatic functions and corporate galas at my father's side, had taught me how to drink. I could hold my own against Russian oligarchs and Irish politicians. This child wouldn't last two rounds.
Benjamin finally found his voice. "Allie, stop it," he said, his tone sharp with annoyance. "You're making a scene."
I looked at him, truly looked at him, and saw the truth. He wasn't telling me to stop to protect me or the company's reputation. He was doing it to protect her. He was worried she couldn't handle it, that she would embarrass herself.
That was it. The final, definitive confirmation.
I smiled, a slow, chilling smile. I picked up my phone under the table, my thumb moving quickly across the screen. I typed a short message to my father.
The game is over. Initiate Plan B.
I hit send.
Then I turned, gave Benjamin one last, empty look, and walked away. I didn't look back. There was nothing left to see.
