Three months, Vanessa had said.
Six weeks, Adrian had replied.
They were greedy even when scheduling my ruin.
I took the microphone again as officers approached Adrian.
“This dance,” I said, my voice carrying over the stunned silence, “is for the woman you should never have underestimated.”
His face drained exactly as I had imagined.
He turned to run.
One officer grabbed his arm. Adrian jerked, stumbled, and his knees hit the polished floor with a dull echo through the ballroom. Not dramatic. Not cinematic. Just ugly. Human. Final.
Vanessa rushed forward. “Adrian!”
The second officer stopped her.
She turned on me, mascara starting to smear. “You ruined everything!”
I looked at her—my sister in stolen gold and panic.
“No,” I said. “You did. I just refused to carry it for you.”