Chapter 4

Christen stepped out of the master bedroom, the canvas bag heavy against her hip. She walked down the wide, silent hallway toward the foyer.

A sharp ding shattered the quiet.

The private elevator doors slid open. Constance Jimenez stepped out. She was dressed in a pristine Chanel tweed suit, her hair perfectly coiffed, her makeup flawless despite the late hour.

Constance's eyes immediately darted to the cheap canvas bag in Christen's hand. Her perfectly drawn eyebrows pulled together in deep disgust.

She marched forward, her heels clicking aggressively against the marble.

"Where do you think you're going looking like a beggar?" Constance's voice was shrill, echoing off the high ceilings.

Christen took a slow, deep breath. She didn't have the energy for this. She kept her mouth shut and tried to step around her mother-in-law.

Constance sidestepped, using her body to block the hallway. She looked Christen up and down with absolute contempt.

Brendon walked out of the bedroom, hearing the commotion. The moment he saw his mother, his aggressive posture vanished, replaced by the submissive slump of an obedient son.

Constance pointed a manicured finger at Christen's face. "You embarrassed this family tonight. Leaving the gala early like a petulant child. You will never learn how to behave, will you? You can dress a stray dog in silk, but it still belongs in the gutter."

Christen's grip on the bag tightened until her knuckles ached. "I don't need to learn your hypocritical rules," she said coldly.

Constance's eyes widened in fury, but she refused to dirty her own hands. She lifted a manicured finger, pointing at the bag with utter revulsion. "Brendon, take that filthy thing away from her! Let's see what trash she's trying to steal from us," she commanded. Brendon, eager to regain his mother's approval, lunged forward and grabbed the fabric of the canvas bag, yanking it hard.

Christen twisted her body to protect it, but the sudden force ripped the cheap zipper open.

Three plain cotton t-shirts spilled out, landing in a heap on the imported marble floor.

Constance stared at the clothes and let out a harsh, mocking laugh. "Look at this trash. You are cheap to your very core."

Christen looked at Brendon. He stood there, watching his mother humiliate his wife.

"Just apologize to her, Christen," Brendon sighed, rubbing his temples. "Don't make a scene."

The last ounce of hope Christen had for him died right there. The disappointment solidified into pure, freezing contempt.

She crouched down, her movements slow and deliberate, and picked up her shirts. She shoved them back into the bag.

Constance sneered. "If you walk out that door, I will cut off every credit card in your name. You'll be sleeping on the streets by tomorrow."

Christen stood up. She looked Constance dead in the eye. "I have never spent a single cent of Jimenez money. Keep it."

Constance's face turned purple. She opened her mouth to scream, but the sound of the front door's electronic keypad beeping rapidly cut her off.

The heavy door was shoved open. A blast of cold air swept into the foyer, bringing a fierce energy with it.

Aisling Kearney marched in. She was wearing her signature blood-red trench coat, holding a massive Hermès Birkin bag. She had just landed from an overseas flight, received Christen's SOS text, and come straight here.

Aisling took one look at the scene-the spilled clothes, Constance's pointing finger, Christen's pale face-and her eyes turned lethal.

Aisling strode forward in her Louboutins, physically wedging herself between Christen and Constance to shield her friend. She used her height advantage to look down at the older woman. Only after ensuring Christen was safely behind her did Aisling turn slightly and slam her massive Birkin down onto the nearby entryway console table. The heavy thud made everyone jump.

"Is this how old money spends their Friday nights?" Aisling drawled, her thick Manhattan accent dripping with venom. "Bullying women in their own homes?"

Constance stumbled back a step, shocked by the sudden intrusion. Her finger trembled as she pointed at Aisling. "How dare you-"

Aisling slapped Constance's hand away. She didn't even look at her. She turned her head and gave Christen a fierce, protective look that said, I've got you.