The Setup

Damian’s eyes hardened at her defiance. "Try it, then," he uttered, his voice dripping with ice.

Serena scoffed. She spun on her heel and strode away, her posture rigid with pride. She left the quiet corridor behind, stepping back into the opulent chaos of the main banquet hall. Her gaze swept over the sea of tailored suits and glittering dresses, scanning the massive room for Tessa. She needed to check on her friend and leave this stifling atmosphere.

Before she could locate her, a sudden shadow blocked her path.

A waitress holding a silver tray plowed right into her. The impact sent a full glass of dark red wine splashing directly against Serena’s chest. The cold liquid soaked instantly into the delicate fabric of her claret evening gown, spreading like a fresh bruise.

"Mrs. Sinclair, I am sorry!" The waitress stammered, her hands trembling as the empty wine glass rolled onto the polished marble floor. Tears brimmed in her eyes. "I am really sorry!"

Serena looked down at the ruined silk. She swallowed her rising frustration. "It is fine. I am just going to change into a clean outfit."

She turned away and headed straight for the grand elevators.

A soft chime announced the arriving car. The polished steel doors slid open. A tall, imposing figure stepped out. Damian’s sharp eyes immediately dropped to the dark stain on her chest.

Serena held her breath. She tried to slip past him into the empty elevator, but he shifted his weight, blocking her path with a sarcastic smirk.

"What is wrong with your outfit, Mrs. Sinclair?"

Serena curled her fingers into tight fists. Every encounter with this jerk ended in mockery. She raised her chin. "Mr. Sinclair, do you remember that you are the CEO of Sinclair Corporation? You hold a prestigious status. Do you not feel cheap having such a gloating look on your face?"

"Oh, so caring for my wife is cheap?" He sized her up, feigning innocent curiosity. "Then, does Mrs. Sinclair think of herself as a cheap woman, too?"

The elevator doors began to slide shut. Unwilling to waste another second on his mind games, Serena shoved past his broad shoulder and stormed into the car. She wanted a peaceful divorce without this constant friction. Yet, every word out of his mouth seemed engineered to irritate her, igniting an urge to beat the hell out of him.

The steel doors sealed shut, cutting off his smug face from her sight.

Out in the hallway, as the elevator began its slow ascent, Damian shifted his gaze to the nervous waitress. "Well done," he murmured.

Upstairs, Serena stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror, dumbfounded by the replacement clothes.

Theoretically, large banquet halls prepared various sizes of evening gowns for emergencies. Instead, the closet offered a bizarre selection. She had settled on the only garments that fit: a thick, long-sleeve top and heavy, ankle-length pants. She quickly dug through the rest of the closet.

The other options matched her size, but they were hideous. They were outdated, unflattering, and ridiculous. One specific word echoed in her mind, the exact insult Damian had used downstairs.

Grotesque.

It was the middle of summer. Even with the estate's air conditioning, wearing thick sleeves and heavy pants felt stifling. Walking back into the party wearing this would be social suicide. Today was Senior Sinclair's milestone birthday celebration, packed with powerful figures. Showing up looking like a Puritan would turn her into the joke of the evening.

Damian’s evil smile flashed in her mind. Her eyes widened.

"That jerk!"

He set this up. She had reason to believe he instructed that waitress to spill the wine on her. He orchestrated this to force her into these hideous garments, making a fool out of her in front of the elite crowd. It was petty retaliation. She had embarrassed the Mercer family mistresses earlier, and this was his way of taking revenge.

"So despicable!" she muttered, gripping the fabric of the ugly top.

Fury burned in her chest. She reached for the zipper of the pants, prepared to change back into her wine-stained gown. She would rather wear ruined silk than let Damian win.

Before she could unbutton the collar, her phone buzzed.

Tessa’s name flashed on the screen. Serena answered.

"Serena, save me! I—Ah!"

Tessa's frantic scream echoed through the speaker, followed by a loud crash. The sound of a phone clattering against a hard floor filled the line.

Serena’s blood ran cold. "Tessa! Where are you?"

A sharp dial tone beeped. The line went dead.

She redialed, but no one answered.

Panic seized her chest. She abandoned the wine-stained dress on the chair and bolted out of the room, not caring that she still wore the grotesque pantsuit. She needed to find Tessa right now.

She sprinted down the hallway. As she rounded the corner, she noticed a massive commotion. A large cluster of guests blocked her path, huddling outside a closed VIP lounge and gossiping in hushed tones.

"Is it real? Was the fight that fierce?" a woman whispered.

"Heck, yeah. We can hear the sounds, even with the door closed," a man chuckled.

"So indecent to have this happening during Senior Sinclair's birthday party!"

"I wonder who that shameless woman is..."

A terrible gut feeling twisted within Serena. The gossip matched the timing of Tessa’s sudden call perfectly. She shoved her way through the whispering crowd.

She reached the front and pushed the door wide open. The sight inside stunned her.

Tessa stood frozen in the center of the room. Her face was pale, drained of color. Her expression looked stiff, and her eyes were wide with pure panic. She stared downward, paralyzed.

Serena followed her friend's gaze, her pupils shrinking.

A wealthy-looking young man lay unconscious on the floor. His eyes were rolled shut, and his head was bleeding. Dark blood dribbled down his forehead, dripping onto the white carpet and spreading in a gruesome halo. The onlookers gasped, recoiling in horror.

Serena snapped into action. She dropped to her knees beside the bleeding man, checking his breathing. She let out a breath of relief; he was still alive. Pulling out her phone, she dialed 911 and applied a cloth napkin to his head wound to stop the bleeding.

Only then did she look up at her terrified friend. "Tessa, what happened?"

Tessa shuddered. She wrapped her arms around herself, stuttering in a shaky voice.

"A... a waiter came to me just now. She said you were waiting for me at the lounge. But when I got here, I realized that a stranger was here instead of you, and he... he attempted to molest me!"

Tessa choked on a sob. "I fought and struggled to get away."

Tessa explained she tried to call Serena, but the guy snatched her phone and smashed it to the floor.

"I panicked," Tessa cried, having never experienced such a terrifying moment. "I grabbed the lamp and smashed it onto him to knock him out."

Serena's mind raced. Tessa was innocent. This was the first time Tessa had attended a dinner party with her, and she had zero enmity with any guests.

Someone had deliberately plotted this setup. Someone lured her into a violent situation to ruin her reputation and humiliate Serena.

Serena’s eyes flashed with fierce protectiveness. She looked up at the gossiping crowd in the doorway.

Her sharp gaze landed on Chloe, who stood in the crowd.

"It's you!" Serena accused.

A flicker of guilt flashed past Chloe’s eyes. She opened her mouth to refute the claim, but a sudden commotion disrupted the crowd.

"Out of my way! Let me through!"

A graceful, poised middle-aged woman pushed her way through the guests.

When she saw the blood-soaked carpet and the unconscious young man lying on the floor, she reeled back in shock for a brief moment. Then, she rushed forward, dropping to her knees beside the bleeding body, and began to wail hysterically.

"Declan! My precious! What happened to you?!"