"Embarrass you?" Chloe repeated, then laughed loudly. "Please. I'm only trying to make conversation."
"Then perhaps we should both enjoy the rest of the evening."
I spoke gently, hoping the suggestion would offer her an uncomplicated escape. She could turn away, rejoin her companions, and pretend that nothing important had occurred. By the next morning the exchange might have been forgotten. No one needed to lose face. No one needed to win.
But Chloe didn't want an escape. She wanted a victory.
She glanced toward the VIP lounge again. Julian had not reappeared. The little audience around us had grown, and I saw the exact moment Chloe seemed to understand she could turn her disappointment into a public performance. If she could make me visibly uncomfortable, perhaps the people watching would laugh with her. Perhaps, when Julian returned, someone would tell him about the scene and she would seem bold, amusing, impossible to ignore. She lifted her chin as though making a decision.
"Everyone seems far too serious tonight," she announced.
Two guests offered uncertain laughter. Others looked away. Mara stood near the bar with a silver tray, watching so intently that she forgot for a moment to move. I could see worry in her face. She recognized the tone. She had been on the receiving end of it earlier.
Chloe edged closer. Her silver gown brushed my arm. I stepped a fraction toward the railing to give her room, but she followed. It was a small movement that left me with less space than before. A person unfamiliar with the conversation might have thought we were sharing a private joke. From where I stood, it felt like being cornered.
"You know what I think?" Chloe asked.
I said nothing.
"I think some people need a little reminder that invitations don't automatically make everyone equal."
The words hung in the air. I felt my fingers tighten against the cool glass railing behind me. There was no misunderstanding her meaning now. She wanted everyone within hearing distance to know that she considered me beneath her. She wanted me to absorb the humiliation quietly, to accept her judgment as the price of being allowed to remain.
"Chloe, that's enough," a woman near the bar said.
It was a soft voice, almost lost beneath the music, but I was grateful someone had spoken. Chloe didn't turn toward her. She kept watching me, her expression bright and predatory. For the first time, I understood that the audience was no longer incidental. She was using it as a weapon.
Her gaze moved from my face to the navy fabric of my dress. The pause was deliberate. I knew she had noticed the gown earlier, but now she studied it as though searching for an obvious flaw she could hold up to the room. A slow smile spread across her face. I felt an unexpected instinct to cover the fabric with my hands, as if protecting something private from a stranger's touch.