The silver tray was heavy.
Grace balanced the ice bucket and the bottle of vintage champagne as she walked toward the VIP penthouse suite. The manager had specifically ordered her to deliver it.
She knocked on the heavy oak door.
"Come in."
Grace opened the door.
Blythe stood in the center of the massive living room. She was wearing a breathtaking, pure white Paris couture gown. The silk pooled around her feet like a cloud.
When Blythe saw Grace, a nasty, calculating smile spread across her lips.
"Bring it here," Blythe ordered.
Grace walked carefully across the thick rug. She kept her eyes on the tray.
As she got close, Blythe suddenly lunged forward. She threw her shoulder directly into the bottom of the silver tray.
The tray flipped.
The heavy bottle of champagne flew into the air. It smashed onto the floor. The dark, sticky alcohol exploded everywhere.
It completely soaked the front of Blythe's white couture dress, staining it a sickly yellow-brown.
Blythe immediately let out a blood-curdling scream.
"You bitch!" Blythe shrieked, pointing at Grace. "She did it on purpose! She threw it at me!"
The door to the study burst open.
Jake walked out, holding a stack of financial reports.
He stopped. He looked at the shattered glass, the ruined dress, and Blythe's fake tears.
"Jake!" Blythe sobbed, running toward him. "This dress is two hundred thousand dollars! She ruined it because she's jealous of me!"
Jake's eyes slowly moved to Grace. His gaze was a physical weight, pressing down on her shoulders.
"She bumped into me," Grace said quickly, her voice trembling. "I didn't move. She hit the tray."
"Shut up," Jake said. His voice was dangerously quiet. "A gold digger who lies for a living has zero credibility in my room."
Grace closed her mouth. Her throat burned. She stared at the man who used to kiss her forehead every morning. He was gone.
Jake walked over to the wall safe. He punched in the code.
He pulled out a thick stack of crisp, hundred-dollar bills.
He walked right up to Grace.
He raised his hand and threw the heavy stack of cash directly at her face.
The paper hit her cheek hard. The bills exploded into the air, raining down around her feet like dead leaves.
"Get on your knees," Jake commanded. "Apologize to my fiancé. Beg for her forgiveness."
Grace clenched her fists. Her fingernails dug so deep into her palms that the skin broke.
"No," Grace whispered.
Jake stepped closer. His chest brushed against hers.
"Kneel," he whispered in her ear, his voice dripping with malice, "or I fire you right now. And I will make sure you are blacklisted from every single job in New York. You will starve on the streets."
Grace stopped breathing.
If she lost her income, Cody would be kicked out of the hospital. He would die.
Her psychological defenses shattered.
Tears filled her eyes. Her legs began to shake violently.
She slowly bent her knees.
As she lowered herself, her wrist caught on the edge of her uniform pocket.
The old, frayed woven bracelet around her wrist pulled tight.
Snap.
The cheap string broke.
The bracelet fell. It hit the thick carpet and rolled right until it stopped against the toe of Jake's expensive leather shoe.
It was a braided string with a cheap, ugly gray stone in the center. Jake had made it for her five years ago on a beach in Malibu.
Jake looked down.
He saw the bracelet.
His lungs stopped working. The blood rushed out of his head, leaving him dizzy.
He stared at the cheap stone. He couldn't process it. Why did she have this? Why was a woman who sold him out for money wearing a piece of garbage he made her half a decade ago?
Grace let out a panicked gasp.
She abandoned her dignity. She threw herself onto the floor, her hands scrambling frantically over the carpet to grab the bracelet.
It was her lifeline. It was the only thing that kept her sane in prison.
Jake watched her panic over the cheap string.
The confusion in his brain instantly mutated into a violent, twisted rage. She was mocking him. She kept it as a trophy of how stupid he was.
