Something moved across Elena’s face then—not fear, not shame. Something colder. “Look closer.”
Vanessa gave a small, disbelieving laugh. “Watch your mouth.”
Elena held Vanessa’s stare so steadily that, for the first time that night, Vanessa seemed less powerful than furious. Then Elena spoke again.
“You really don’t recognize me?”
For one second, Vanessa froze. Something in Elena’s voice had changed. It carried memory. Accusation. Wounded certainty.
Vanessa recovered too quickly. She stepped forward and smashed one of the tray lids sideways with the back of her hand. “You forget who you are.”
The silver tray crashed to the marble floor with a sound so violent it cut the ballroom open. Guests gasped. Champagne spilled. A violinist lowered his bow.
And then it happened. Elena slapped Vanessa across the face.
Crack.
The sound echoed across the hall. Vanessa stumbled backward in disbelief, her heel skidding on the polished marble. Her champagne flute flew from her hand, shattering beside her, and she fell onto the floor in a scatter of black silk, silver crystals, and public humiliation.
Chapter 2: The Ghost of Isabelle
No one moved. No one breathed.
Elena stood above her, perfectly still. Then, very slowly, she set down her remaining tray. She reached for one of her white gloves and peeled it off.