Eleanor stepped back, her face pale as a sheet. To the audience, it looked like the matriarch was simply too overcome with shock to act.
But Franco wasn't stopped by secrets. He stormed up the stairs, his heavy footsteps thudding on the wooden stage. He grabbed Kalea's wrist-the one holding the microphone-and squeezed. Hard.
"You are finished," he growled, his voice low enough that the mic didn't pick it up, but the menace was palpable. "You just cost this family millions. I will ruin you."
Kalea tried to yank her arm back, but his grip was like iron. Pain shot up her shoulder.
Suddenly, a thud from the floor below drew everyone's attention.
Jennie had collapsed. She lay on the marble floor, eyes closed, one hand dramatically draped over her forehead.
"She's fainted!" someone shouted.
"Get a doctor!"
Franco released Kalea instantly, shoving her aside with enough force that she stumbled and nearly fell off the edge of the stage. He didn't look back. He jumped down and ran to Jennie, scooping her up in his arms.
"Jennie! Jennie, can you hear me?" His voice was filled with a tenderness Kalea had never heard.
The crowd murmured. The narrative shifted instantly. Kalea was the aggressor. The jealous, crazy woman who had bullied a poor girl into unconsciousness.
Haleigh took the microphone from Kalea's numb hand.
"I am so sorry, everyone," Haleigh said, tears glistening in her eyes. "My sister... she had a breakdown this morning. She shouldn't have been released from the hospital. Please, forgive her."
Kalea stood there, rubbing her bruised wrist. She watched Haleigh play the victim. She watched Franco cradle his mistress.
She felt strangely light. The anger had burned itself out, leaving only ash.
She lifted her hands. Slowly, deliberately, she put the emerald earrings on. First the left. Then the right. The cold stones brushed against her neck.
She walked down the stairs. The crowd parted again, but this time with looks of disgust.
She walked straight to where Franco was kneeling on the floor with Jennie. Jennie's eyelids fluttered. She opened them, looking up at Franco with wide, fearful doe eyes.
Kalea stood over them.
Franco looked up. "Get away from her, you psycho."
Kalea looked down at him. She touched the earring on her left ear.
"Take care of her, Franco," she said, her voice calm and clear. "She seems fragile. Much more fragile than your contracts."
She turned around. She didn't look at Eleanor. She didn't look at Haleigh.
She walked toward the towering pyramid of champagne glasses near the back of the room. She needed a drink. She needed to wash the taste of their hypocrisy out of her mouth.
Eleanor was watching her from the stage, her eyes burning with a hatred that promised retribution. But Kalea's hand was trembling uncontrollably now. The adrenaline was fading, and the crash was coming.
