Chapter 3

I tilted my head slightly, as if I'd just heard the most absurd joke of the century.

"Blair, are you actually brain-dead?" My tone was flat, not even bothering to mask the mockery in my eyes. "Manager Morrison just made it crystal clear—tonight is complimentary for everyone. What exactly am I supposed to pay for?"

Blair let out a sharp, derisive laugh, her eyes brimming with contempt.

"The comp is because the hotel's doing my father a favor. What does that have to do with someone mooching off others?"

She lifted her chin with theatrical magnanimity, gesturing toward the bottles of 1945 Romanée-Conti on the table.

"Since this courtesy is extended to my family, I decide who gets comped and who doesn't."

"The '45 Romanée-Conti, plus the private floor rental—your share comes to fifty thousand dollars."

"Fifty grand. Are you paying by card, or should I have you hand over those rags you're wearing?"

Morrison, who'd retreated to stand by the door, blanched at her words. He instinctively stepped forward, his voice urgent: "Miss Covington, please watch your language. This lady's bill—"

I raised my hand, cutting off the perspiring Morrison, then took a step closer to Blair, meeting her gaze directly.

"You're hell-bent on making an enemy of me today, aren't you?"

Blair didn't flinch. She nodded with cold certainty.

"Damn right I am."

"If Derek hadn't begged me, gutter trash like you wouldn't even qualify to step through this hotel's front door. I wanted to show you what high society looks like, but you had to get all precious about your pathetic pride, spitting in my face after I tried to help you."

"Well, today I'm going to teach you a lesson—make you understand exactly what you are."

Hearing her pompous tirade, I couldn't suppress a laugh.

"Sorry." I looked at her like she was a pathetic clown. "I know exactly where I stand. The one who doesn't know what she really is? That's you."

The moment the words left my mouth, the banquet hall fell silent.

Then came the harsh scrape of chairs. Several fraternity brothers jumped to their feet, kicking their seats aside. The room erupted in disbelieving mockery:

"Cordelia, have you lost your goddamn mind? You dare talk to Blair like that? If you really had that kind of status, would Derek have tolerated a broke deadweight like you?"

"Exactly! Blair's dad runs a Fortune 500 company—her family's loaded, like seriously loaded! Could your entire net worth even cover the sales tax on these bottles?"

"This is insane. She's completely delusional. When she starts crying later, nobody lend her a dime!"

I ran my tongue over my molars, scanning these well-dressed "elites" without a trace of fear.

"Are you finished?" My gaze settled on their stunned faces. "I don't just look down on Blair..."

"Every single person in this room disgusts me."

"Because all you know how to do is kiss ass and grovel to anyone with money. You're all trash."

From the moment I'd walked in, these so-called Ivy League high-achievers had thought of nothing but sucking up to wealth and influence. Since they didn't possess even basic dignity, I saw no reason to preserve any semblance of civility.

That statement detonated the room.

Derek stormed over, jabbing his finger toward my face.

"Cordelia! You ungrateful leech—you don't deserve to be here! Pay that fifty thousand right now and get the hell out!"

As the condemnation grew louder, Blair's vicious smile finally broke through.

She suddenly picked up an untouched glass of Romanée-Conti and, with a flick of her wrist, poured the entire contents over her diamond-studded heels.

The deep burgundy liquid cascaded down, the expensive wine's aroma filling the air as it dripped onto the pristine white wool carpet, leaving vivid stains.

"Cordelia, I know asking a charity case like you to produce fifty thousand on the spot is harder than killing you."

Blair extended her wine-soaked foot forward, surveying the room with supreme arrogance. "Out of respect for Derek, I'll be generous one more time. You have two options."

"One: Get on your knees right now and lick my shoes and that carpet clean with your tongue. Then shout three times that you're a vain piece of trash."

"Two: Pay up the fifty thousand immediately."

"Choose option one, and I'll wipe your debt clean. Eat a little humble pie and earn fifty grand—sounds like a great deal, doesn't it?"

Shrill whistles and applause echoed through the banquet hall.

Everyone stared at me eagerly, waiting to see my facade shattered, waiting to watch me grovel like a dog beneath Blair's wealth and power.

The irony wasn't lost on me.

A fake heiress stealing my privileges to bark orders, surrounded by a pack of spineless sycophants—clearly, they didn't understand who they were really dealing with.

I swept my cold gaze across their faces, finally locking eyes with Blair.

Then I calmly looked away, turning to the sweating Morrison, tapping my watch face.

"Fifteen minutes."