Chapter 63 Silk and Sabotage
The air in the Sapphire Suite was thick with the scent of salt and the heavy, lingering humidity of the Atlantic. We were back from the beach, and the room felt less like a sanctuary and more like a staging area. Eliza sat on the edge of the silk-covered bed, her emerald-green bikini discarded, staring at the floor with a hollow expression.
"He’s just like them, Mila," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Gavin. He looked at me—really looked at me—and then he just... turned it off. Like I was a seasonal employee he was done with for the day."
"He’s a coward, Liz," I said, though my own heart was doing a strange, fluttering dance I couldn't suppress. I kept seeing the way the sun hit the water on Nate’s skin, feeling the phantom heat of his hand on my hip. I reached into the suitcase, pulling out the gowns for the night. "We don't have time to mourn them. We have dinner to survive."
Because we were staying at the estate, we had to be ready before the car came to take us down to the Beach Club's private pavilion for the "Sunset Gala." I handed Eliza her dress—a vintage, floor-length silk gown in a deep plum. I stepped into my own: a sleek, high-necked black dress that was simple enough to look chic but modest enough to hide the shaking of my knees.
As I zipped Eliza up, Nate knocked on the door. When I opened it, he was standing there in a tailored black dinner jacket, his white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, looking like the very definition of the power he was born into.
"The car is waiting," he said. His eyes raked over me, and for a second, the coldness in his gaze thawed into something dangerously warm. "You look... appropriate, Mila."
"Appropriate?" I challenged, raising an eyebrow.
"It’s the highest compliment a Salvatore gives," he murmured, his voice low enough to make the hair on my arms stand up.
We moved as a pack through the marble foyer. Theodore was already waiting by the heavy mahogany doors, checking his watch. He looked at Eliza and me with a polite, measured smile. Gavin, however, was already outside, leaning against the matte-black SUV. He was staring out at the ocean, his dinner jacket slung over one shoulder, his tie already loosened as if the night was already suffocating him.
As we climbed into the plush, leather interior of the SUV, the silence was heavy. Nate and I sat in the middle row, our shoulders nearly brushing with every turn of the winding cliffside road. Across from us, Eliza sat stiffly, staring out the window to avoid Gavin’s gaze.
"Don't look so miserable, Brooklyn," Gavin said. He didn't look at her; he was busy fiddling with a silver lighter. "The Beach Club at night is the only time this island actually feels alive. Even if the people on it are mostly dead inside."
"Then you should fit right in," Eliza shot back, her voice sharp but her eyes never leaving the window.
Theodore let out a soft, amused huff from the front seat. "He’s just trying to say it’s a spectacle. Just follow Nate’s lead, and keep your drinks close. It’s a gala, but it’s also an audition."
The car descended the final curve, the jungle canopy opening up to reveal the glow of the shore. The transition was jarring.
The Beach Club had been transformed with thousands of fairy lights strung through the palm trees, and the VIP pavilion—a glass-walled structure over the water—was filled with the Alverstone elite. The music was softer now, replaced by the clink of crystal and the hum of expensive conversation.
As we walked in, the "Triad"—Bianca, Savannah, and Vivian—were already huddled near the bar, their eyes tracking us like heat-seeking missiles. But Scarlett was the first to reach us. She looked like a goddess in a shimmering gold slip dress, holding two chilled flutes of champagne.
"Nate! There you are," Scarlett said, her voice bright and melodic. She turned to me, her eyes widening with what looked like genuine delight. "And Mila, you look absolutely stunning. I was so worried after that awkwardness on the beach."
"Thanks, Scarlett," I said, feeling a rush of relief.
"And Eliza!" Scarlett turned her attention to my friend, her smile softening. "That plum color is divine."
Scarlett leaned in, as if to whisper a secret to Eliza. "Here, let me help you with that sash, it's sitting a bit crooked. We can't have the Salvatore guests looking anything less than perfect."
Scarlett reached out. As she adjusted the silk at Eliza’s waist, the champagne flute tilted sharply. A dark, bubbling wave of sparkling wine crashed directly onto the delicate plum fabric of Eliza’s skirt.
"Oh! Oh my god!" Scarlett gasped. The damage to the dress was catastrophic—a huge, darkening stain bloomed across the silk. "I am so, so sorry! Someone bumped my elbow—did you see that?"
Eliza looked down, her face going deathly pale.
"It’s okay, it was an accident," I said quickly, grabbing a linen napkin from a passing waiter to dab at the silk, though I knew it was a lost cause.
Scarlett’s eyes welled with tears.
"I am a total klutz, Eliza, please don't hate me," Scarlett pleaded, her voice thick with distress. She looked around at the growing audience of onlookers as if she were the one humiliated. "I have a spare dress in my suite at the resort—it’s a Chanel, it would fit you perfectly. Please, let me make it up to you. I feel absolutely sick about this."
"It's fine, Scarlett," Eliza said, her voice small and defeated. She looked over at the bar, where Gavin was watching the scene with a blank expression. He didn't come over. He didn't help. He just watched the light fade from her eyes as she looked down at the ruin of her favorite thing.
"Really, Scarlett, don't worry about it. It was an accident," I insisted. It was a relief to see that someone in this world was capable of making a mistake and feeling human enough to cry about it. In a room full of sharks, Scarlett’s vulnerability was the only thing that felt like home.
We turned, and I focused on getting Eliza to her seat.
Nate stepped up beside me as we sat down at the long banquet table. He looked at the stain on Eliza’s dress, then at Scarlett, who was now laughing at something Vivian Thorne said. His jaw tightened.
"You're too observant to be this blind, Mila," Nate whispered, leaning close to my ear.
"She’s being nice, Nate," I snapped softly. "Not everyone has an ulterior motive."
"In this room?" Nate asked, his voice a cold warning. "Everyone has an ulterior motive. Especially the ones who offer you a drink while they're drowning you."
I picked up my fork, the weight of the silver heavy in my hand. I looked at Scarlett, who waved at me from across the table with a wink. I chalked it up to Nate’s cynicism. It had to be a mistake. It had to be.