Vincent turned to face Victoria fully.

The room stayed silent.

"You raised your hand against my mother." His voice was quiet.

That made it worse.

Victoria straightened.

"Vincent, I can explain.

She wandered into a restricted area and refused to leave.

I was simply—"

"You were simply about to str*ke a woman in a wheelchair." He didn't raise his voice.

He didn't need to.

Victoria's composure cracked just slightly at the edges.

"This is a misunderstanding.

We've known each other for fifteen years.

Surely you're not going to take the word of a waitress over—"

"I'm going to take the word of my own eyes."

A murmur moved through the crowd.

Victoria glanced around the room, suddenly aware that every powerful person she'd ever cultivated was watching her lose.

Then Isabella reached up and touched Vincent's sleeve.

Her voice was barely above a whisper.

"She wasn't alone, Vincent."

The room went very still.

Vincent looked down at his mother.

"What do you mean?"

Isabella's eyes moved slowly across the ballroom.

Her hands were still trembling, but her voice was steady now.

"There was someone else.

Someone who told her I would be here tonight.

Someone who told her…

where to find me."

Victoria's expression didn't change.

But her right hand moved — just slightly — toward her clutch bag.

Emma saw it.

And she wasn't the only one.