Chapter 5

The moment I stepped into the ballroom, I felt it. A change in the atmosphere. The cheerful chatter died down. All eyes turned to me.

I was a walking spectacle, a living embodiment of a scandal. I could feel their stares, their whispers.

"That' s her."

"The psycho."

I kept my head high, just as Carter had instructed, and started walking toward the stage at the far end of the room. It felt like the longest walk of my life.

Suddenly, a woman screamed. "It' s her! The one who attacked Gia!"

Panic erupted. It was a flash mob of hate. People surged toward me, their faces twisted in anger.

"Liar!"

"Get out!"

I tried to tell them they had the wrong person, that I wasn' t Gia. "Please, listen to me!"

But my voice was drowned out by their rage. They didn' t want the truth. They wanted a target for their anger.

"She' s probably here to hurt Gia again!" someone yelled.

A man threw a drink at me. The cold liquid soaked the front of my dress, sticking to my skin. Then someone else threw a bread roll. It hit me in the chest.

The violence escalated quickly. They were shoving me, pulling at my hair. I tried to fight back, to push my way out of the mob, but I was surrounded.

A hard object-a purse, maybe-hit me in the side of the head. Pain exploded behind my eyes, and I stumbled, my vision blurring.

Through a gap in the crowd, I saw them. Carter and Gia. They were standing near the exit, watching. Carter had a protective arm around Gia, who was clinging to him, her face a mask of fake terror.

For a single, heart-stopping moment, Carter' s eyes met mine. I saw a flicker of something-hesitation? Guilt?

"Carter!" I screamed, my voice raw with desperation. "Help me!"

He took a half-step toward me. But then Gia let out a small, theatrical cry and clutched her arm as if she' d been hurt.

That was all it took. Carter' s attention snapped back to her instantly. He scooped her up into his arms and carried her toward the exit, leaving me to the mob.

The last thing I saw before I fell was Gia' s face over Carter' s shoulder. She was smiling. A triumphant, vicious smile.

My legs gave out from under me. I hit the hard marble floor. The crowd surged, and I was lost beneath a sea of kicking feet and angry shouts. A sharp pain shot through my ribs. Another kick landed on my back. I curled into a ball, trying to protect my head.

This was it. They had finally done it. They had destroyed me.

I was completely, utterly alone. Abandoned. The promise he had made-to protect me-was a bitter, mocking echo in my mind. He had chosen to save her, to save his precious, perfect original, and had left the copy to be torn apart. I was just a substitute, and now I was a sacrifice.

The world was a blur of pain and noise. I thought I was going to die right there, on the floor of that glittering ballroom.

Then, through the chaos, a voice cut through.

"Get back! All of you, get back!"

The crowd parted. A man knelt beside me. He was the man from the fire, the one I had saved. Holden Nunez.

He gently touched my shoulder. "Are you okay? Can you hear me?"

His face was filled with a genuine concern I hadn' t seen in years. He wasn' t looking at me like I was a monster or a freak. He was looking at me like I was a person.

I tried to speak, but all that came out was a sob.

He carefully helped me up, shielding me with his own body. He led me out of the ballroom, away from the flashing cameras and the hate-filled faces.

I leaned against him, the world spinning. The last thing I felt before I blacked out was the solid, steady strength of his arm around me.

I had saved him from a fire. And now, he had saved me from a different kind of hell.