Chapter 7

The Maybach door opened. Curtiss stepped out first. The camera flashes exploded like a violent lightning storm.

He turned and offered his hand. Isla placed her trembling fingers into his palm. As she stepped out, she deliberately shrank back, squinting against the blinding lights.

Curtiss immediately pulled her against his side. He wrapped his arm tightly around her waist, using his broad chest to shield her from the cameras. It was a pure, aggressive display of ownership.

They walked into the grand ballroom. The loud chatter of the elite crowd died down for a fraction of a second. Every eye in the room locked onto Isla's dress.

Across the room, Jaylene was holding a glass of champagne, laughing with a group of heirs. She turned around.

The champagne glass slipped from Jaylene's hand and shattered on the marble floor. All the blood drained from her face.

Jaylene looked down at her own dress, then back at Isla's. Next to the authentic Verve masterpiece, Jaylene's dress looked like a cheap Halloween costume.

Collette stood nearby, her face twisting in pure fury. She thought Isla had manipulated Curtiss into buying the dress just to humiliate them.

Isla clung to Curtiss's arm. She put a hand over her mouth and gasped softly. "Oh no," she whispered, just loud enough for people to hear. "We're wearing the same dress."

Curtiss looked at Jaylene. A cruel, mocking smirk touched the corner of his mouth.

A group of senior fashion editors swarmed them. They ignored Jaylene entirely, fawning over the flawless stitching on Isla's gown.

One of the editors, a notorious critic known for destroying careers, turned to look at Jaylene.

"Good lord," the critic said loudly, adjusting his glasses. "Who let that garbage into the room? Look at the hemline. It's a pathetic counterfeit. An insult to haute couture."

The surrounding socialites erupted into muffled laughter. They pointed at Jaylene, their eyes full of vicious mockery.

Jaylene's face burned bright red. Tears of absolute humiliation welled in her eyes. She lost her mind.

She lunged forward, pointing a shaking finger right at Isla's face. "You manipulative bitch! You did this on purpose!"

Isla let out a tiny shriek. She hid completely behind Curtiss's back, grabbing handfuls of his suit jacket, shaking violently.

Curtiss's patience snapped. He reached out and grabbed Jaylene's pointing finger, twisting her wrist down hard.

Jaylene screamed in pain.

"If you ever speak to my wife like that again," Curtiss said, his voice dropping to a demonic whisper, "I will erase the Morales name from Wall Street by sunrise."

Collette rushed forward, grabbing Jaylene and pulling her back. "Mr. Coffey, please, she didn't mean it!" Collette begged, looking terrified.

Curtiss didn't even blink at her. He wrapped his arm around Isla and walked straight toward the VIP lounge, leaving Jaylene crying in the center of the room as a public laughingstock.

Isla walked beside him. Just before they entered the hallway, Isla peeked out from under Curtiss's arm. She looked back at Jaylene.

Isla's eyes were dead, cold, and dripping with absolute arrogance.

Jaylene saw the look. She stopped crying. Pure terror washed over her face as she realized the weak cousin she had bullied for years was a monster in disguise.

"She... she's a monster! Did you see her eyes?!" Jaylene suddenly shrieked, grabbing Collette's arm and pointing wildly at the empty hallway where Isla had just been. "She did this! She set me up!"

But Collette merely slapped Jaylene's hand away, looking at her daughter with utter disgust and embarrassment. "Stop making a scene! You've humiliated us enough tonight. Are you hallucinating now?" The surrounding guests shook their heads, whispering about Jaylene's pathetic, hysterical breakdown. Isla's flawless performance had completely cemented Jaylene's status as a delusional, jealous wreck. No one would ever believe a word she said.

Inside the quiet VIP lounge, Curtiss let go of Isla. He looked down at her.

"Did you enjoy watching her burn?" Curtiss asked, testing her.

Isla immediately forced tears into her eyes. "I feel awful," she cried softly. "I shouldn't have worn it."

Curtiss sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration at her endless weakness.

The heavy door of the VIP lounge suddenly pushed open.

A man in a silver suit walked in. He had a reckless, untamed energy.

Isla looked up. Her breath completely stopped. The room spun.

Curtiss saw the color vanish from Isla's face. He followed her gaze. His eyes locked onto the stranger, and his blood turned to ice.