Chapter 3

Sebastian's face went white. He crossed the room and wrenched the knife from Clara's hand.

"Get the house physician — now!"

He stripped off his tie and wound it tight around her bleeding wrist.

Clara let herself be surrounded, blinking weakly up at the crowd.

Her eyes slid to me for just a moment — no despair in them, no death wish.

Only the bright, quiet gleam of someone who thought she was winning.

Once Clara had been carefully arranged on a chaise in the rest area, Sebastian turned and came straight for me.

"Lena."

The slap landed before I could move — open-handed, full force, ringing off the walls of the ballroom.

I staggered into the edge of a marble table.

The corner caught my forehead. Blood ran into my eyebrow.

My left cheek burned, my ear rang, and the room tilted sideways.

Sebastian stood over me, pointing down like I was something he'd scraped off his shoe.

"You wanted her dead, right? You didn't stop until you pushed her there?"

"I don't need such a wife. I want a divorce. Tonight."

The room erupted in agreement. Someone actually smiled.

"He's right to do it. A wife like that is a curse."

"The brother's a predator and she's no better — God knows how she landed Sebastian in the first place."

"The Holt family and Clara Hayes are the real victims here. These two Carver siblings are a plague."

The words came in waves, each one uglier than the last.

They looked at me like I was something that needed to be put down.

I swallowed the blood pooling at the back of my throat.

I pressed a hand to the floor and pushed myself up, slowly, until I was standing straight.

"Proof." My voice didn't shake. "Show me one person in this room who actually witnessed my brother attack Clara Hayes."

Silence.

Faces exchanged glances.

Sebastian's smile was brittle. "You never learn, do you?"

He turned and walked to the far corner of the ballroom, where two bodyguards stood flanking a large black duffel bag.

He crouched, unknotted the drawstring, and reached inside.

When he straightened, he was holding a custom lapel pin between two fingers — small, expensive, engraved with a single letter: C.

He raised it above his head so the whole room could see.

"This pin was commissioned for Ethan Carver's twenty-first birthday. Custom design, one of a kind. No duplicate exists anywhere in the world."

He turned and threw it at my chest.

"Still want to tell me your brother wasn't there?"

The floor shifted under me.

Cold sweat broke across my back.

That pin. I recognized it instantly. Ethan had been wearing it tonight.

Had someone gone to the supply closet and let him out? But I had left a guard posted. I had given specific instructions.

Something wasn't adding up.

Mr. Hayes spat on the ground at my feet.

"The evidence is right in front of you. What exactly is left to argue?"

I held Sebastian's gaze and let the smile come slowly.

"Funny thing, isn't it?"

"Ethan and I haven't been back long. We don't run in these circles often, but we've never caused trouble. We know how to conduct ourselves."

"So why is it that on the one night I specifically asked my brother to stay close to Sebastian and keep his head down — this happens?"

I let the question sit.

"Someone set Ethan up. Someone who wanted my family to take the fall."

"That is a lie—"

The composure cracked. Just for a second — but I saw it. Sebastian's eyes flickered with something he couldn't quite bury.

The men closest to him grabbed his arms, quietly, firmly — keeping him from doing something he couldn't walk back.

The room turned on me instead.

"Lena, have you lost your mind? You're accusing your own husband to cover for your brother?"

"You want to take the Holt family down with you?"

"The Holts have suffered enough bringing you into this family!"

Several older women rushed over to pull me aside.

"Lena, apologize to Sebastian. There's still time to fix this."

I shook them off. "I have nothing to apologize for."

Someone murmured nearby.

"Sebastian and Clara grew up together. If something was really going on between them, they'd have married years ago. Why would she need to bother with any of this?"

It was a small thing — barely above a whisper.

But in a room full of people who'd been so certain a moment ago, it landed like a stone in still water.

Eyes shifted. Expressions changed. The crowd that had been pointing at me began, almost imperceptibly, to point somewhere else.