Chapter 4

When the doctor finally cleared me to leave the recovery wing of the estate, Isabelle was there.

She reached out to help me with my bag.

I pulled away, my shoulder aching, but my resolve firm.

I looked past her, to Chloe, who stood a few feet away, her expression concerned but steady.

"Chloe, can you give me a ride?"

Isabelle's hand dropped. A flicker of something – surprise? Annoyance? – crossed her face.

I didn't care. I walked past her, towards Chloe, without a word.

Chloe drove me back to the main house.

"Are you okay, Ethan?" she asked, her voice gentle.

"Never better," I said, the irony thick in my voice.

She tried to cheer me up, talking about a new restaurant, a movie she wanted to see.

"My treat," she said, smiling. "You look like you could use some spoiling."

I managed a weak smile. "Thanks, Chloe. Maybe later."

For a moment, her easy companionship was a balm.

A brief, welcome levity.

The annual Met Gala. The pinnacle of New York's social calendar.

This year, the Vanderbilt Foundation was set to bid on a centerpiece historical artifact – a diamond necklace once owned by a Vanderbilt ancestor.

My father wanted it back in the family, a showpiece for the Foundation.

I was there, my arm still in a sling, but determined to do my part.

Then I saw them.

Isabelle and Leo.

Isabelle, stunning in a silver gown that shimmered like moonlight.

Leo, beside her, in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, his charm turned up to full wattage.

My stomach clenched. Apprehension, cold and unwelcome, slid down my spine.

The bidding for the necklace began.

I made the opening bid, as planned.

Then, unexpectedly, Leo Hayes raised his paddle.

A gasp went through the room.

Leo? Bidding against Vanderbilt?

He smiled innocently at me, a small, apologetic shrug. "Just a little artistic interest, Ethan. For inspiration."

He was trying to drive up the price. To make me, and the Foundation, pay more.

Or worse, to embarrass me.

Isabelle watched, her expression unreadable.

The bidding escalated. Me against Leo.

He was clearly enjoying himself, playing to the crowd.

Then, just as I was about to make what I thought would be the winning bid, Isabelle raised her paddle.

Her bid was astonishingly high. Far beyond what Leo could afford. Far beyond what the Foundation had budgeted.

The auctioneer's gavel fell.

"Sold! To Miss Isabelle Hayes!"

A stunned silence, then a buzz of whispers.

Isabelle smiled, a cool, triumphant smile.

She turned to Leo.

"For your artistic inspiration, my dear brother," she said, her voice carrying in the suddenly quiet room.

She was gifting him the Vanderbilt heirloom. Publicly.

Humiliation, hot and fierce, washed over me.

The crowd was eating it up. Ethan Vanderbilt, outbid and outmaneuvered by his father's protégés.

Their gossip was a low, buzzing torment.

"Did you see his face?"

"She played him beautifully."

"And giving it to her brother! Such a statement."

My jaw tightened. My pride, already battered, screamed.

I wouldn't be defeated. Not like this.

Later in the evening, there was a call for philanthropic pledges.

To save face, to reassert Vanderbilt dominance, I stood.

"Vanderbilt Holdings pledges to match the total sum raised tonight," I announced, my voice ringing with false confidence.

A gasp, then applause. It was a massive commitment.

But when it came time to make good on the pledge, to transfer the funds, my primary accounts were declined.

My phone buzzed. A security alert from my bank. Account frozen.

Panic, cold and sharp, pricked at me.

Scarlett Dubois, who was nearby and managing a Foundation credit line, tried to step in.

"Use this," she hissed, thrusting a platinum card at the event organizer.

Her card was also declined. Frozen.

The whispers started again, louder this time.

Ethan Vanderbilt couldn't cover his pledge.

Then Isabelle Hayes stepped forward.

Cool. Composed.

"Allow me," she said, her voice clear and calm.

She produced her own card.

The transaction went through. Instantly.

She had covered my massive pledge. With her own, surprisingly deep, resources.

The humiliation was complete. Absolute.

She had saved me, and in doing so, she had utterly destroyed me in front of everyone.