Her heels clicked on marble, faster now, uneven. The room stayed silent as she passed, as if everyone was holding their breath until she was gone.
Paige didn’t follow.
She stood frozen, staring after her mother like a child watching a balloon float away.
When the ballroom doors closed behind Victoria, a wave of sound erupted—whispers, frantic conversations, people pulling out phones.
Dela Fairchild’s pen moved fast.
Marcus stepped beside me, voice low. “You did well,” he murmured. “Now we let the system work.”
I nodded, but my chest felt strangely hollow.
Not because it wasn’t satisfying—it was.
But because revenge, real revenge, doesn’t feel like fireworks. It feels like the moment you put down a weight you didn’t realize you’d been carrying.
My father took my hand. His grip was tight, grounding.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
I squeezed back. “Me too,” I said softly. “But we’re here now.”
Part 6
The days after the gala felt like Charleston had been shaken and didn’t know where to settle.