"You need to leave. Now." Each word drips with decades of practiced superiority. "Security is already on their way."
Isabella's grip on my shoulder tightens, but her voice remains steady. "Good evening, Olivia. Lovely party. Though I have to say, the food was better at the Boston mansion."
The casual reference to our shared past—to happier times before the Saints destroyed everything—hits like a thunderclap in the suffocating silence that's descended around us. Several nearby couples have stopped dancing, hungry for the drama unfolding before them.
"How dare you show yourself here," my mothers seethes.
"I have every right to be here with the man I love."
My heart explodes in my chest. The words—so simple, so brave, so fucking beautiful.
Isabella stands tall beside me, this goddess in green, facing down the dragon that once destroyed her without a trace of fear in her eyes.
Mother's perfectly painted lips curl into a sneer. "You are not a guest here. You don't belong—you never have and never will." She steps closer, voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "Leave now, before you face the consequences of—"
"That's enough." My voice cuts through her threat like a blade. Nine weeks of suppressed rage, of watching their manipulations, of missing Isabella—it all comes pouring out. "You don't get to threaten her. Not anymore"
"Don't you dare take that tone with me." Mother draws herself up, every inch the society queen. "I am your mother, and I will not stand here while this... this girl—"
"This girl," I grab Isabella's hand and squeeze it, channeling every ounce of conviction into my voice, "is Isabella Jenkins. The love of my life. And you will stop disrespecting her."
The words ring through the sudden silence, echoing off crystal and wealth. Isabella's fingers tighten around mine, and I feel her sharp intake of breath. Mother's face transforms into something ancient and terrible. The perfect society mask cracks, revealing the monster beneath. "How dare you." Her voice trembles with fury. "After everything we've done for you—"
"Everything you've done?" I step forward, using my height to tower over her. "You mean like framing an innocent woman? Destroying lives? Threatening the woman I love?"
"I will not be spoken to like this by my own son." She jabs a manicured finger at my chest. "If you think for one second that I'll allow this little thief to—"
The rest of her tirade drowns in sudden chaos as the main doors burst open. The orchestra screeches to a halt, the violent silence filled with the rhythmic thud of heavy boots on marble. Through the glass doors, I catch glimpses of flashing lights painting the night in red and blue.
A group of federal agents move like a synchronized unit, their badges glinting under the chandelier light. My father stands at our table, straightening his tie with the casual arrogance of a man who believes money can solve any problem. But I notice the slight tremor in his hand, the first crack in his perfect facade.
"Theodore Saint." The lead agent's voice cuts through the whispers like a blade. "You're under arrest for conspiracy, embezzlement, money laundering through Project Cerberus, and involvement in the death of Jacob Wells."
A collective gasp ripples through the crowd. The soft clicks of phone cameras fill the air as Los Angeles' elite document the fall of their king. Crystal glasses freeze halfway to perfectly painted lips, everyone desperate to catch every detail of this spectacular implosion.
Father smooths his jacket, his lips curving into that familiar smile that's closed billion-dollar deals. "This is ridiculous. I'm a businessman—"
"A businessman who had his head of security murdered." Isabella's voice rings clear across the stunned silence.
The metallic snap of handcuffs cuts through his protest. Two agents flank him, their faces impassive as they secure his wrists behind his back.
"You'll regret this." His voice rises, that practiced charm cracking to reveal something darker beneath. "Do you have any idea who I am? The connections I have? I want my lawyer here now, and when he's done with you—"
The threats pour from him like a waterfall, each one more grandiose than the last. But there's fear in his eyes now—real fear, maybe for the first time in his life.
As they pass us, his gaze locks with mine, then slides to Isabella. The hatred there could melt steel. "If you think this changes anything—"
"Evelyn says hello." Isabella's voice is cool as winter frost, but her fingers tremble against mine. Her chin lifts higher, emerald eyes blazing with fifteen years of stored fury and vindication.
Father's face contorts. “Olivia, call Richardson. Now. Get this straightened out—"
The agents keep moving, unmoved by his commands.
"Theodore?" Mother's whisper cracks with desperation as she hurries after them, her perfect composure finally shattered. "Theodore!"
The carefully constructed mask of Olivia Saint fractures like fine china hitting marble. Her designer dress catches on a chair as she stumbles forward, the silk tearing with a sound like a wounded animal.
"This is absurd!" My mother's voice rises, hysteria bleeding through her polished veneer. "Do you know who we are? We built this empire! We own—"
