Chapter 4

Sophia took a step back. "I'll pay for it. I promise, I'll pay for it."

I looked at her. "Good."

She was stunned, clearly caught off guard by how quickly I said yes.

I turned to my secretary. "Send Ms. Grant the bill for the damages. She needs to confirm how she's paying by midnight tonight."

Sophia's face turned pale. "Midnight?"

"That's right," I replied.

"I don't have that kind of money right now," she said, her voice trembling.

I met her gaze in silence, refusing to say a word.

She bit her lip, and at last turned to Andrew, her voice barely above a whisper. "Andrew"

After a long pause, Andrew finally spoke. "I'll handle it."

I nodded. "Fine."

He looked like he was about to relax, but I cut in, "From your personal account."

The suite fell silent.

Andrew looked at me. "Do we really have to keep things so separate between us?"

I smiled.

"When you were helping her save face, you knew perfectly well whose reputation you were relying on," I said.

His face darkened.

I didn't bother arguing with him anymore. I handed the garment bag to the staffer. "Take Ms. Grant inside to change."

Sophia just stood there, frozen.

The vulnerability in her eyes finally showed through.

"Claire, do you really have to make me lose face like this?" she asked, her voice trembling.

I looked at the dress she was wearing, torn and ruined.

"You're the one who decided to wear this dignity," I said.

I placed the garment bag in her arms.

"Taking it off is your own job," I said.

Sophia took twenty minutes to change.

When she came out, she was in the hotel's spare black dress. The fit was wrong, and the shoulders sagged. She carried my couture gown in a garment bag, its train folded, and a sliver of dark gold embroidery showed at the edge.

My secretary took the dress and handed it directly to the brand's on-site staff.

The staff member, wearing white gloves, inspected it carefully, his frown deepening with every look.

"Ms. Hughes, there are needle marks on the chest, pulled threads at the waist, and a champagne stain on the hem. We can fix it later, but it's not fit to wear tonight," he said.

Her face went from red to white in an instant.

She stood there, feeling as if she'd been stripped bare in front of everyone.

Andrew stepped in front of her, shielding her. "I'll cover the cost."

The brand manager shot me a look.

I said, "Process the compensation through the company account, with Sophia Grant as the responsible party. If Mr. Lane is covering the payment, please attach a note explaining the arrangement."

Andrew's gaze was intense. "Do you really have to put her down for it?"

"She was the one wearing it," I replied.

"I was the one who had it sent over," he said.

I looked at him. "Then put your name down too."

My secretary had already pulled up the records on her computer, her tone steady. "Ms. Hughes, the brand's records show the dress was signed out by Mr. Lane's assistant.

"The note says it was for 'Mrs. Lane to wear at the dinner.' Ms. Grant wore it tonight, and there are photos and videos from the party."

Andrew's expression darkened.

He probably hadn't expected my people to check even this.

Honestly, there was no need to look into it.

Every step of the process for couture like that was documented from the moment it left the brand's vault. Andrew had been to enough of my parties to know exactly how it worked.

Then Sophia spoke up, quietly. "Claire, I'll apologize and I'll do everything I can to pay. But so many people saw it tonight.

"You pulled me off the main table, you made me change, and now you want a liability statement. After this I won't have a place in this world at all."

Even though her voice was soft, everyone in the suite heard her.

The secretary looked up at her but didn't say anything.

The brand manager kept his head down, quietly tidying up the dress.

I walked over to the coffee table, picked up my number seven tag, and set it down in front of her.

"You wanted to get ahead in this circle, so you took my tag?" I asked.

Sophia's gaze wavered.

I picked up the seating chart the organizers sent over. "You wanted to make it in this circle, so you took my spot at the head table?"

I spread the chart out in front of her.

Right in the center of the head table, my name was there. But someone had slapped a white label over it, covering my name.

On the label, in fresh handwriting, was the name, Sophia Grant.

The ink was still wet, the label stuck on so fast the corners were already curling up.

I turned to Andrew. "Who told them to change it?"

Andrew didn't answer right away.

Sophia jumped in before he could. "I asked the organizers to do it. I thought you wouldn't make it back in time, and leaving the seat empty would look bad."

I looked at her.

That was more interesting than the crying had been.

Since when have the organizers been taking orders from Sophia?

She had just divorced, her company had gone under, and she'd needed somebody else to walk her into that party, and the organizers were going to move the Hughes Foundation's head table for her?

My secretary handed me her phone, showing a freshly pulled screenshot of the call log.

"Ms. Hughes, the organizers' admin just confirmed that the seating change came from Mr. Lane's office," she said.

Without another word, I set the phone down on the table.

Sophia's lashes fluttered.