Chapter 2

A week had passed since the engagement party, but the humiliation of that night clung to me like a second skin. My mother's pale face as she was wheeled to the center of the ballroom haunted my dreams. I couldn't forget how she trembled as those strange attendants tried to force her weakened legs to stand, all while Manhattan's elite watched with barely concealed disdain. Or worse—pity.

I adjusted the simple black dress I'd chosen for tonight's charity gala. Another Blackwood family obligation. Another evening of performing the role of the grateful fiancée.

"You don't have to go," my mother had said earlier, her eyes still carrying the shadow of shame from the engagement party. "I'll be fine alone."

"Brandon insists," I'd replied, the words tasting like ash. "Besides, it's for children's cancer research. A good cause."

What I didn't tell her was that Brandon had barely spoken to me all week, his attention consumed by urgent meetings and late nights at the office. But his text messages had been clear: my attendance was non-negotiable.

The Metropolitan Museum's rooftop garden glittered with string lights and New York's wealthiest patrons. I sipped champagne slowly, scanning the crowd for Brandon. He'd arrived separately, citing a business dinner that ran late.

"He's by the bar with the brunette," a woman's voice said behind me.

I turned to find William Blackwood's executive assistant watching me with something like sympathy in her eyes.

"Thank you," I murmured, though gratitude was the last thing I felt as I spotted Brandon leaning close to Vanessa, his hand resting casually on her lower back.

I moved through the crowd toward them, physics equations tracing themselves across my mind as they always did when anxiety threatened to overwhelm me. *Force equals mass times acceleration. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction.*

Vanessa saw me first, her lips curving into a smile that never reached her eyes. "Sarah! We were just talking about you."

"Were you?" I kept my voice neutral, years of hiding my feelings from Brandon serving me well.

Brandon straightened, his hand dropping from Vanessa's back. "Vanessa has some wonderful ideas for the wedding. She used to work in event planning."

"How fortunate," I said, meeting her gaze directly. Something flickered there—calculation, perhaps. Or triumph.

"I should check on the silent auction," Vanessa said, touching Brandon's arm with familiar ease. "We'll talk more later."

As she walked away, I noticed her glance toward a redheaded woman near the rooftop bar. Something about the exchange—a slight nod, a moment of recognition—sent a chill through me despite the warm May evening.

Hours later, needing a moment away from Brandon's cold performance of affection, I slipped into a service corridor that led to the restrooms. The hallway was dimly lit and quiet compared to the noise of the gala.

"Following me?" Vanessa's voice echoed against the marble walls as she stepped from the shadows.

"Excuse me?" I moved to pass her.

She blocked my path. "You know, he only proposed to you because he felt sorry for you and your crippled mother."

The words hit like a physical blow. "Don't talk about my mother."

"Why not? Everyone else does." Her smile was cruel now, her pretense abandoned. "The brilliant physics student reduced to changing adult diapers. How pathetic."

"Move aside," I said, my voice shaking with rage I rarely allowed myself to feel.

"Or what?" she taunted. "You'll—"

A scream cut through the air. The redhead from the bar stumbled between us, clutching at Vanessa. "Help! She's attacking us!"

Vanessa collapsed against the wall, her hand flying to her face. "Someone help!"

"What? I didn't—" I reached out instinctively, confused by the sudden chaos.

The redhead screamed again, louder. "Security! Help!"

Footsteps pounded down the corridor as security guards appeared, followed by a crowd of curious onlookers. Vanessa sobbed dramatically, a trickle of blood at the corner of her mouth.

"She just attacked us," the redhead—a stranger to me—insisted. "I saw everything."

"That's not true," I protested, but the security guard was already radioing for police.

Brandon pushed through the crowd, his face a mask of concern—not for me, but for Vanessa. He knelt beside her, his fingers gently touching her cheek.

"What happened?" he demanded, looking up at me with cold fury.

"I didn't touch her," I said, but even as the words left my mouth, I saw the security camera in the corner of the ceiling, its lens capturing only the final moments of the confrontation.

The police arrived with startling speed. As they snapped handcuffs around my wrists, I caught a glimpse of Vanessa and the redheaded woman exchanging a look of satisfaction.

"Brandon," I called out desperately as they led me away. "This is a setup. Please—"

But Brandon had already turned away, his arm protectively around Vanessa's shoulders as whispers rippled through the shocked crowd.

*Every action has an equal and opposite reaction.*

But I was beginning to understand that in the world of the Blackwoods, the laws of physics didn't apply. Only power mattered—and I had none.