"Kalea! Darling!" Jennie's voice was sugary sweet, pitched just loud enough to turn heads nearby.
She glided to a stop in front of Kalea. Up close, the champagne dress looked even more expensive. Jennie smelled like the inside of the limousine-that heavy, floral scent that made Kalea's head throb.
"I love that dress on you," Jennie said, reaching out as if to touch the fabric, but stopping short. "It's so... vintage. Was that from the Spring collection two years ago? I think I saw it in an outlet."
A few guests nearby chuckled politely, hiding their smirks behind cocktail napkins.
Kalea looked at her. She didn't blink. She looked at Jennie the way one might look at a stain on a silk rug. "And I see you're wearing the 'Ambition' collection," Kalea said, her voice flat. "Tell me, does Franco pay you overtime for this? Or is this part of the 'full service' package?"
Jennie's smile faltered. Her eyes narrowed into slits. She took a step closer, invading Kalea's personal space. She lowered her voice to a whisper.
"He told me about you last night," Jennie hissed. "While he was in my bed. He said touching you is like touching a corpse. Cold. Lifeless."
Kalea felt the blood drain from her face. Her stomach twisted violently. But she didn't step back. She held her ground.
"At least I'm not a rental," Kalea whispered back.
Jennie's face twisted in ugly rage. For a second, the mask slipped completely.
Suddenly, Jennie gasped. She threw her hand to her chest.
"Oh! Please, don't!" Jennie shrieked.
She threw herself backward. It was a theatrical, clumsy movement, but effective. She slammed into the edge of the dessert table behind her.
CRASH.
A silver platter of macarons went flying. Jennie stumbled, catching herself on the tablecloth, pulling it down.
The music stopped. Haleigh stopped cutting the cake on the stage. Every eye in the ballroom turned to the corner where Kalea stood holding an empty glass, looking for all the world like she had just shoved the fragile secretary.
Jennie was panting, looking terrified. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to upset you!" she cried out.
As Jennie scrambled to regain her balance, her beaded clutch bag slipped from her fingers. It hit the marble floor. The clasp popped open.
A small velvet box tumbled out. It hit the floor and bounced open.
Two large, teardrop-shaped emerald earrings rolled out onto the white marble.
They caught the light of the chandelier, flashing a deep, hypnotic green.
The room went silent.
Kalea stopped breathing. Her vision tunneled until all she could see were those green stones.
They were unmistakably the Alexander Emeralds. Her grandmother's earrings. The ones Grandma Rose had worn in her portrait. The ones she had promised to Kalea on her deathbed.
"They are lost," Eleanor had told her three years ago. "The safe was faulty. They're gone."
Jennie's eyes went wide with genuine panic. This wasn't part of her script. She lunged forward, her hand scrambling across the floor to grab the jewels.
"No!" Jennie gasped.
Kalea moved. She didn't think. Instinct took over.
She stepped forward and brought her heel down hard.
Crunch.
She stomped directly onto Jennie's outstretched hand.
"AAAAHH!" Jennie screamed, a high-pitched, blood-curdling sound that echoed off the vaulted ceiling.
Kalea didn't lift her foot. She ground her heel down, pinning the hand to the floor. She bent down, her movements fluid and terrifyingly calm. She picked up the earrings. The metal was cold against her skin.
She turned them over. On the back of the gold setting, barely visible, was the engraving: To My Dearest Eleanor.
Her mother had lied. She hadn't lost them. She had given them away. Or Franco had taken them. It didn't matter. They were in the purse of her fiancé's mistress.
Kalea stood up. She held the earrings tightly in her fist, the sharp edges of the gems cutting into her palm. She lifted her foot off Jennie's hand, which was now red and swelling rapidly.
She looked up. Her eyes swept the room, dark and burning. She locked eyes with Eleanor, who was rushing across the ballroom floor.
