Halfway through the evening, Miranda raised her champagne glass. “Everyone,” she said, her voice smooth and venomous, “since Ava insists she belongs among us, perhaps she’d like to prove it. Show us what she’s hiding beneath that bargain dress.”
A ripple of disbelief moved through the crowd. Ava froze, her breath catching. She thought Miranda was joking, but then Tessa and two cousins surrounded her, grinning cruelly.
“Come on, Ava,” Tessa hissed. “Don’t act shy now. Let everyone see if you’re truly fit to be a Harrington.”
Laughter erupted, brittle and sharp. Ava’s hands trembled as she tried to step back. Her husband sat at the head table, watching silently, his eyes darting away as if pretending not to see. That silence—his silence—cut deeper than any words.
Humiliation clawed at her throat. She wanted to run, to scream, to vanish. The walls seemed to close in, the music distant and mocking. Just when the jeers grew unbearable, the sound of doors slamming against marble broke through the chaos.
Two tall men strode into the hall, their presence commanding instant silence. The crowd parted instinctively.