Clara felt every eye in the ballroom.

Her heart hammered against her ribs.

She needed this job.

Her rent was overdue.

Her mother depended on the small amount of money Clara sent home every month.

One mistake could destroy everything.

But Mrs. Gable was still trembling behind her.

Clara looked at the old woman.

Then back at Vanessa.

"I know exactly who I'm speaking to."

Vanessa stepped closer.

"You are a waitress."

"I know."

"And I'm a Vale."

"I know that too."

A murmur moved through the crowd.

Vanessa's face reddened.

"Then you should know your place."

Clara's voice became softer.

"I do."

She paused.

"My place is wherever someone needs help."

For one second, nobody moved.

Then Vanessa raised her hand.

The diamonds on her fingers flashed beneath the chandelier.

Clara didn't step backward.

"I'd rather be a waitress," she said quietly, "than a bully."

The hand stopped in midair.

And somewhere beyond the velvet curtains, a man stopped smiling.