Page 65 of Spearcrest Queen

I could tell him that I earned it, that I didn’t take anything he didn’t lose himself. That this is what happens when you push someone into the dirt and expect them to stay there. I could throw the gala at his face, or the fifty-thousand-dollar donation card—Evan’s name, even.

But I don’t. I smile.

“So?”

Redness flushes into his cheeks. He draws so close to me that I can smell him, the gel in his hair, the sugary vape he’s just been sucking on. I can see the shadows under his eyes, proof of the sleepless nights he must have spent working for the achievement I took from him.

“Why?” he hisses, so angry his voice is barely audible.

I lean into him, speak slowly and deliberately.

“Guess I was justgagging for validation.”

Anthony stiffens.

I hold his gaze for a beat longer, enjoying the victory, giving him a chance to make a retort, to attempt a retaliatory blow.Nothing. What’s there to say? I turn and walk away, heels cracking across the marble.

The victory is short-lived, a euphoric rush followed by a sudden wave of hollow exhaustion. I’ve tasted the first morsel, a delicious bite, but barely enough to touch the sides. That’s fine: there’s plenty more to come.

One down. Two to go.

I don’t come tothe party looking for Dahlia.

It’s just another Harvard Law event, another evening playing the chess game of networking and bartering internships over martinis. December is the season for these, the final stretch before winter break.

The venue is a private club in Beacon Hill, dark wood panelling and subdued lighting, fireplaces crackling against the cold. From the tall windows, the streets below are dusted with the remnants of last night’s snowfall.

I notice Dahlia without even meaning to. Not because she’s ridiculously gorgeous—she always is—and not even because I’d decided that tonight’s going to be the night I take my revenge.

No. I notice her because something’swrong.

Normally, Dahlia shines at events like these. Unlike Max’s grating confidence or Anthony’s off-putting pushiness, she has the game of seduction perfected to an art. She knows how to appear effortless, untouchable, and desirable all at once.

Tonight, she’s wearing dark gold satin draped over her body like liquid armour. Her honey-blonde hair is pulled back into a simple updo with loose tendrils framing her face.

From a distance, she’s flawless, but I’ve been keeping a close eye on her this year, and I know her well enough to see what nobody else sees.

Like the fact that her movements are impatient and tense, her laughter rings a fraction too loud, her fingers clutch the stem of her champagne flute too tightly. She drinks, but with none of her customary languor or enjoyment.

And then I see who’s standing next to her.

Marcel Roth.

How was it Alice described him? Likes his protegees young andcontractually compliant.

With almost forty years of experience, he’s a heavyweight in corporate law, charismatic and knowledgeable, the kind of man people trip over themselves to impress. But his charm is a shallow coating of polish over a dark, rotten thing. Marcel Roth doesn’t come to these events to network—he comes to these events toshop.

And right now, he’s standing far too close to Dahlia.

A wave of disgust crawls through me. From where I am, I can see the way he leans in to speak to her, fingers groping the curve of her waist. A casual touch, except it’s not, because Dahliaisn’t playing. The opposite. She looks furious, disgusted, trapped.

No one intervenes.

We all know Dahlia, the games of seduction she likes to play. She’s good at them, and part of me suspects that Dahlia feels most alive when she feels desired. I suppose I feel the same way too, depending on who’s doing the desiring.

But right now, Dahlia doesn’tlooklike she feels alive. She looks like she’d rather be dead. Or rather, like she’d ratherRothwas dead. Her fingers grip her glass as if she wishes it was a knife.

I’m walking towards them before even making a decision, eyes riveted on them, chest tight and cold, hands fisted at my side. My brain is still full of the research I did for my HLR article, full of the ways rich men find ways to take advantage of women without ever having to face consequences.

---