Candi Hodges leaned against the flocked wallpaper. She held a half-empty martini glass in her hand. Her eyes raked over Corinne with undisguised disgust.

Behind Candi stood Trish O'Malley. Trish let out a high-pitched, grating snort, acting as the perfect, mindless echo chamber.

Candi tilted her wrist. A splash of the sticky, clear martini flew through the air and landed directly on the hem of Corinne's velvet dress. It left a dark, ugly stain.

Corinne stopped walking. She looked down at the ruined fabric. Her hands tightened around her clutch. A violent urge to strike surged through her veins, but she forced it down into her stomach.

Candi took a step forward. "Did you buy that off a clearance rack? You don't belong here anymore, Corinne. You're a stain on this room."

Trish giggled loudly. "Remember when Corwin threw her out? She didn't even have shoes on. Look at her now, pretending she's somebody."

Several guests lingering near the hallway turned their heads. Their eyes locked onto the confrontation, hungry for drama.

Corinne lifted her face. She blanked her expression. She made her eyes look hollow and dead, perfectly mimicking the broken shell she was six years ago.

Candi saw the lack of resistance. It fueled her arrogance. She reached out and flicked a strand of Corinne's hair. "And this hair. God, you look like a drowned rat."

Corinne jerked her head away. The movement was small, jerky. The exact reaction of a cornered, terrified prey.

Candi stepped right into Corinne's personal space. She lowered her voice into a venomous hiss.

"I can't believe you have the nerve to show your face. After what you did to Alex. You let that baby die. You're a murderer."

Corinne's pupils blew wide open. Her lungs seized. The air was violently sucked from her chest. It felt like a massive iron fist had just crushed her heart into a pulp.

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Her nails sliced straight through the skin of her palms. Warm blood welled up, dripping down to stain the metal clasp of her clutch bag.

Trish didn't notice the blood. She kept talking, her voice loud and grating. "She belongs in a prison cell, not a penthouse."

Candi took a dramatic step backward. She pinched her nose with her free hand. "God, do you guys smell that? It smells like rotting garbage. It smells like guilt."

More people gathered at the edge of the hallway. Cell phones were pulled from pockets. Camera lenses pointed directly at them.

Corinne stared at Candi. The hollow emptiness in her eyes vanished. For one fraction of a second, a terrifying, predatory coldness bled into her gaze.

She swallowed the metallic taste of blood in her mouth. She needed a reason. She couldn't strike first. She needed the perfect legal justification to break this woman in half.

Corinne took a shaky step backward. Her voice trembled violently. "Please. Just let me pass."

The retreat was the ultimate trigger. Candi thought she had won. She thought Corinne was still the weak, pathetic victim from six years ago.

Candi raised her hand. Her long, red-painted index finger jabbed viciously into Corinne's shoulder.

The physical impact pushed Corinne backward. A dull ache bloomed in her collarbone. That was it. That was the line.

Corinne raised her arm. It looked like a clumsy attempt to block the finger. But beneath the velvet sleeve, every muscle in her arm locked into solid iron, ready to snap Candi's wrist.

Heavy, measured footsteps echoed from the end of the hall.

"Corinne."

It was Justus.

Corinne's hand froze mid-air. She forcefully aborted the kinetic energy building in her muscles. Her arm dropped.

She instantly morphed her face back into a mask of pure terror. She spun around to look at Justus, her chest heaving.

Candi saw Justus approaching. She rolled her eyes and dropped her hand, but a nervous twitch betrayed her bravado. "Save it, Wilson. We were just catching up."

Justus walked up to Corinne. He didn't look at her. He locked his eyes on Candi. His stare was so freezing, so utterly devoid of humanity, that Candi physically shivered.

Corinne wrapped her hands around Justus's arm. Her body was shaking violently. Justus felt the tremors. He knew it wasn't fear. It was pure, unadulterated rage vibrating through her bones.

Justus leaned his head down. "Are you alright?" he murmured, his tone playing the part of a concerned escort.

Corinne kept her head down, letting out a small, fabricated sniffle. "Not yet," she whispered back, her voice barely a breath against the ambient noise. "Just give it a minute."

Chapter 3

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