The Mute Heiress's Fake Marriage Pact

The humiliation rippled outward. Daphne was sputtering, trying to defend her jewelry, but the damage was done. The whispers shifted from Elara to Daphne.

"Fake?"

"Can the family not afford real gems anymore?"

Tiffany emerged from the bathroom, realized her zipper was fine, and saw her friend floundering. She charged back into the fray.

"Leave her alone!" Tiffany shrieked at Elara. "You jealous little witch! You're just trying to embarrass everyone because you're miserable!"

Elara turned to walk away. She headed for the exit, needing to escape the suffocating air.

But the path was blocked.

Lance, a cousin of the Vance family, swayed in front of her. He was drunk, his tie loose, his eyes glassy and predatory.

"Hey, cousin," Lance slurred. "Where you going? The party's just starting."

He stepped closer. "You know, Julian can't... perform. You're gonna be lonely."

He reached out and stroked Elara's arm. His hand was damp.

Elara stepped back. "Don't," she mouthed.

"Oh, playing hard to get?" Lance laughed. "Come on. You're just a foster kid. You're used to roughing it."

He grabbed her wrist. Hard.

Across the room, Julian saw it. He stopped listening to the senator. His hands gripped the wheels of his chair. His knuckles popped. He watched Elara. What will you do? he thought. Are you a victim, or are you a survivor?

Elara stared at Lance's hand on her wrist. The smell of bourbon on his breath triggered a memory-a foster father, a locked door, a belt.

Something inside her snapped. The dissociation vanished, replaced by cold, hard rage.

She didn't speak. She didn't scream. She used the lessons learned in the playgrounds of the state wards, where fighting wasn't an art, but a necessity.

Lance yanked her toward him.

Elara stepped into the pull rather than away from it. She brought her heel down hard on his instep-the sensitive metatarsal bones crunching under her weight. As he gasped, she twisted her wrist against his thumb, using leverage rather than strength to break his grip.

Lance stumbled back, tripping over his own feet. He fell hard, crashing into a waiter carrying a tray of champagne flutes. The sound of shattering glass silenced the room.

Lance howled, clutching his foot. "She attacked me! The crazy bitch attacked me!"