The Secret Parrish Heiress Strikes Back

The silence in their immediate vicinity was deafening. Every eye in that section of the club was on them. The rich and powerful of Manhattan, frozen in place, staring at the spectacle.

Darcy stood there, soaked from head to toe. Her mascara was running down her cheeks in black rivers. Her hair, so perfectly styled moments ago, was plastered to her face. She looked like a drowned rat in a designer dress.

She wiped her face with her hand, smearing the makeup further. "You crazy bitch!" she shrieked, her voice cracking. "You ruined my dress!"

Jaylynn set the empty glass down on a nearby table with a sharp clink. She looked at Darcy with cold disdain. "Your mouth was dirty," she said, her voice calm and clear in the quiet bubble. "I washed it out for you."

A gasp rippled through the onlookers. Someone snickered. Before the scene could escalate further, two burly men in discreet black suits were already moving toward them, their expressions firm and professional.

Dempsey moved.

He was out of his seat in a flash, his face a mask of thunder. He didn't look at Elinor. He didn't ask what had happened. He saw Darcy dripping wet and humiliated, and he saw red.

He lunged toward Jaylynn, his hand outstretched. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he roared. He grabbed Jaylynn's shoulder and shoved her backward.

Jaylynn stumbled, her heels slipping on the polished floor. She threw her hands out to catch herself, but the floor was slick with spilled alcohol. She was going to fall. She was going to hit the edge of the table.

A strong arm caught her around the waist, halting her fall. Killian Wise. He pulled Jaylynn upright, his grip firm and steady. He glared at Dempsey, his dark eyes promising violence. "Touch her again," he said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble, "and you'll lose the hand."

Dempsey ignored him. He was focused on Darcy, pulling her into his arms, shielding her from the crowd's view. "It's okay," he murmured into her wet hair. "I've got you."

Elinor watched the scene unfold. She watched her husband-the man she had loved for three years-attack her friend to defend the woman who had just humiliated her. She watched him hold Darcy like she was something precious, something worth protecting.

The last thread of her attachment to him snapped.

She stepped forward, placing herself between Dempsey and Jaylynn. She didn't look at Darcy. She looked straight into Dempsey's furious gray eyes.

"Get your hands off her," Elinor said. Her voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of absolute authority. "Don't you ever touch my friend again."

Dempsey's jaw clenched. He looked at Elinor as if seeing her for the first time. The meek, obedient wife was gone. In her place stood a woman with fire in her eyes and steel in her spine.

"Look at what she did!" Dempsey yelled, gesturing at Darcy. "This is the kind of trash you associate with now, Elinor? This is who you've become?"

"Trash?" Jaylynn scoffed from behind Killian's protective bulk. "You didn't hear the garbage coming out of her mouth. She deserved worse."

Darcy clutched Dempsey's arm, her body trembling. "Dempsey, I just went to talk to her," she whimpered, her voice thick with fake tears. "I was trying to be nice, and she just attacked me. I didn't do anything."

"Liar," Jaylynn shot back. "You told her she was a stand-in. You told her Dempsey was pretending she was you. You're a psycho."

Dempsey's face darkened. He turned his glare on Jaylynn. "You're going to pay for this, Livingston. I'll sue you for everything you're worth. You'll be scrubbing floors to pay off the dry cleaning bill."

He was using his money, his power, to threaten them. It was his default response. When in doubt, crush the opposition with legal fees and bad press.

The crowd was murmuring now, phones appearing from pockets and clutches. This was going to be all over social media in minutes. Everett Divorce Drama. Socialite Catfight at The Crimson Quill. The headlines wrote themselves.

Dempsey seemed to realize the same thing. He looked around, his face flushing with embarrassment. The great Dempsey Everett, losing control in public. It was a disaster.

He pointed a shaking finger at Jaylynn. "My lawyer will be in touch. And you," he turned to Elinor, "you're coming home. Now."

"No."

The word hung in the air. Simple. Final.

Killian stepped forward, his presence a calming influence in the storm. He positioned himself slightly in front of Elinor and Jaylynn, a silent barrier between them and Dempsey's rage.

"Everett," Killian said, his voice cool and detached. "You might want to lower your voice. You're making a scene. And before you threaten anyone, perhaps you should get the full story."

Dempsey's eyes narrowed. "Stay out of this, Wise. This is between me and my wife."

"She's not your wife," Killian said, his gaze flicking to Elinor for a fraction of a second. "She's a woman you're divorcing. And you're manhandling her friends in public. That's not a good look for a CEO."

The two men stared each other down. The air crackled with tension. Old money versus new. European power versus American ambition. And in the middle of it all, Elinor Parrish, the woman they were both fighting over.

Dempsey took a step back, his chest heaving. He looked from Killian to Elinor, his mind racing. This was a trap. Elinor had set him up. She had lured Darcy out, provoked the attack, and now she had Killian Wise backing her up. It was a calculated move to make him look like the bad guy.

He had underestimated her. He had thought she was weak. He was wrong.

He wrapped his arm tighter around Darcy, his knuckles white. "This isn't over," he spat at Elinor. "Not by a long shot."

He turned on his heel and pushed through the crowd, dragging a still-sobbing Darcy with him. The crowd parted, whispering and staring as the disgraced couple fled the club.

Elinor watched them go. She didn't feel victorious. She just felt tired. And empty. And incredibly, overwhelmingly angry.