I jerked my arm away. “Stop pretending, Colette.”
But she only gripped me tighter, her nails digging into my skin in warning.
I could see the eyes of the other guests lingering on us, watching, curious—why was Colette Birkin, the golden child of the elite, treating me, the outsider, with such familiarity?
They did not know that every touch, every word from Colette was an act.
“What do you want now?” I asked her in a low but piercing tone.
Her smile never wavered as she leaned in, her breath warm against my ear.
“Are you asking because you’re stupid or pretending to be stupid, Nadine?” she whispered, her tone dripping with venom masked beneath honeyed sweetness. “I told you, our parents are still discussing the engagement. You, an insignificant nobody, should know when to step aside.
A cold fury spread through me. So, I tilted my head slightly, mirroring her closeness, my lips brushing against the shell of her ear.
If she wanted to play this game, I would give her something to choke on.
“Tell me, Colette,” I whispered, my voice as soft as silk. “Have you ever slept with Raphael?”
Her body tensed, so I continued, “If not, then you’re one level beneath me. Oh wait—let me correct myself. Ten levels beneath, because I doubt Raphael even considers you a friend.”
Colette’s entire demeanor snapped. Her grip on my arm faltered, and for the first time, the composed mask cracked. The rage behind her gaze was raw, burning.
I did not see it coming until it was too late.
Splash.
The rich red wine soaked into my dress, staining the fabric like blood. A gasp rippled through the crowd. Before I could react, Colette shoved me—hard.
The world tilted. My back collided against the cold, unforgiving wall, pain exploding along my spine. A sharp gasp escaped my lips as the impact sent a ringing through my ears.
The room fell into stunned silence before the whispers began.
“What do you mean, Nadine?!” Colette’s voice rang out, feigning shock, twisting the narrative in her favor.
Her eyes darted around, taking in the growing audience, her mind already crafting a new scene—one where she was the victim, and I was the villain.
She placed a trembling hand over her chest, her voice dropping into something delicate, almost wounded.
“Why are you showing off your intimate relationship with Raphael? I know we’re friends, but isn’t that something you should keep private?”
Oh, she was good.