Chapter 4

A few days later, the city was buzzing about the "gala disaster."

My name was whispered in architectural circles, not for my talent, but for my public shaming.

Job prospects dried up instantly.

My phone rang. Ethan.

My blood ran cold.

"Mia," his voice was brusque, devoid of any warmth. "I need you to do something for me."

I wanted to scream, to tell him to go to hell. But the remnants of my contract, my final severance, dangled precariously.

"What is it, Ethan?"

"There' s a party in the Hamptons tonight. An investor, a very important one for a new project. Isabella... she managed to offend him. Badly."

A familiar story.

"She' s stressed. I need you to go. Smooth things over. You were always good at that."

He made it sound like a compliment. It was a demand.

"My final severance, my recommendation letter... they depend on this, Mia. Don' t mess it up."

The implication was clear. One last dance for the puppet master.

The Hamptons party was a blur of champagne, fake smiles, and suffocating wealth.

Ethan pointed out the investor, a Mr. Harrington. Older, lecherous eyes that made my skin crawl.

"Just be charming, Mia. Apologize for Isabella' s... directness. Make him feel important."

Isabella watched from across the lawn, a smug smile playing on her lips. This was her design, another humiliation tailor-made for me.

Mr. Harrington cornered me by the pool.

His hand lingered too long on my arm, then slid to my waist.

"So, you' re the one sent to make amends?" His breath smelled of expensive scotch and something rotten.

"Mr. Cole and Ms. Vance send their apologies, Mr. Harrington," I said, trying to subtly pull away. "There was a misunderstanding."

"Oh, I understand perfectly," he leered, his eyes dropping to my chest. "A beautiful young woman like you... you understand how to make a man feel... appreciated."

His hand tightened, pulling me closer.

I pushed against his chest. "Mr. Harrington, please."

He laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. "Playing hard to get? I like that."

His other hand came up, grabbing my shoulder.

Isabella and Ethan were watching, their expressions unreadable from this distance, but I imagined their amusement.

I twisted away, desperation giving me strength.

"I think you' ve had too much to drink, Mr. Harrington."

His face purpled with rage.

"You ungrateful little bitch!" he snarled, his voice loud enough to turn heads.

He shoved me, hard.

I stumbled backward, my heel catching on the flagstones.

There was a tearing sound.

I looked down. My dress, a simple summer frock I' d saved for, was ripped from neckline to waist, exposing my slip underneath.

Gasps rippled through the onlookers.

Mr. Harrington pointed a shaking finger at me. "She was leading me on! Teasing me! Then she acts all innocent!"

Faces stared, some shocked, some amused, some contemptuous.

Ethan finally strode over, his face a thundercloud.

Not for Harrington. For me.

"Mia, you' ve embarrassed everyone," he said, his voice like ice.

"You should know your place by now."

He didn' t look at my torn dress, didn' t ask if I was okay.

He just saw a problem, a disruption to his perfect world.

"Go home," he ordered. "You' re done here."

Done.

That was the word.

Something inside me snapped.

The last thread of hope, of obligation, of fear.

I looked at him, at Isabella who was now approaching, a look of triumph on her face.

I reached into my purse, pulled out my Cole & Vance Global ID badge and the office keycard.

I placed them carefully on a nearby marble table.

Then, I turned and walked away.

Head high, slip showing, the whispers following me.

I didn' t look back.

This time, I was truly done.