CHAPTER 1 — THE RIP THAT SILENCED THE BALLROOM
CHAPTER 1 — THE RIP THAT SILENCED THE BALLROOM
The neoclassical ballroom of Hôtel De Vienne shimmered under crystal chandeliers, every surface polished so perfectly it reflected lies as easily as light.
Guests in couture gowns and tailored tuxedos formed circles of whispered judgment, champagne glasses floating like props in a silent performance of superiority.
At the center of it all stood Elena Marlowe.
Quiet. Still. Wearing a simple ivory dress—elegant in its restraint, but clearly out of place among diamonds and designer arrogance.
And then came Vivienne Hart.
Blonde. Brilliantly dressed. Cruelly confident.
She didn’t walk toward Elena so much as claim space around her.
“Oh,” Vivienne said loudly, circling her like a predator inspecting weak prey. “Did someone let you in wearing that?”
A few guests chuckled.
Elena said nothing.
That only encouraged her.
Vivienne’s fingers hooked into the side seam of the dress.
“Let’s fix this embarrassment.”
RIIIIIP.
The fabric tore open from hip to hem in one violent motion.
Gasps rippled through the ballroom.
Elena froze as the gown—something soft, structured, impossibly precise—fell apart in her hands.
Vivienne smiled.
“Cheap will always be cheap.”
Laughter followed.
Elena’s eyes lowered. Not in defeat—but in something deeper.
Calculation.
Then—
A voice cut through the room like a blade.
May you like
“WHO TOUCHED THAT DRESS?!”
Silence collapsed instantly.
