Chapter 39 Her Spotlight

Chapter 39 Her Spotlight
Kai’s POV

The moment I hung up with Alina, her voice still cracking in my ear from everything that snake Dorothy had done, something in me snapped. 

No more playing nice. No more staying in the shadows while these spoiled assholes treated her like a pawn.

Dorothy had messed with my girl…well, technically not my girl yet. But soon. 

Time to teach her what real consequences felt like.

Word about Blake’s big so-called welcome-back bash had been everywhere…social media stories, group chats blowing up, even the damn school forums. 

Blake couldn’t shut up about it. He was strutting around like a peacock, bragging about the Harrington Royale ballroom, the guest list, and especially the after-party at his family’s penthouse condo with the rooftop pool. He’d invited half the school. 

Everyone except me, of course.

Too bad I was still showing up…with or without an invite.
Sweet-talking my way into this ballroom took work, but I owed favors and collected them. One of my biker club buddies had an uncle who was the head chef for tonight’s event. 

A few calls, some begging, and suddenly I had a gig as an extra server. Black vest, white shirt, bowtie that felt like it was choking me and a nose mask. 

I got here early, memorized every hallway, every exit, every blind spot near the power panels. I knew exactly where Dorothy liked to hover…near the important people, smiling too wide, fishing for attention.

I was carrying a tray of champagne flutes when Alina walked in.

Holy hell.

That emerald gown hugged her like it was painted on. The high slit flashed just enough leg to make my brain short-circuit. Her hair, her makeup, the way she moved…stunning didn’t cover it. 

I nearly dropped the whole tray. My hands itched to ditch this stupid uniform, pull her into the nearest dark corner, and show her exactly how crazy she made me. 

Then Blake slid his arm around her waist like he owned her. My jaw locked so tight I thought I’d crack a tooth. I forced myself to keep moving through the crowd, head down, serving drinks like a ghost.

One time, I even brushed past Alina.

Our elbows touched and I felt a tingle running down my entire body. But of course…she didn't notice.

When Dorothy finally made her entrance…plunging neckline, fake laughs, ass-kissing Mrs. Harrington like her life depended on it…I knew it was go time.

I slipped toward the service corridor, heart hammering with dark satisfaction. One quick glance around, and I flipped the main breaker. The entire ballroom plunged into blackness.

Gasps. Cries. The satisfying crash of a glass hitting the floor.

In the chaos, I moved fast and silent, tray still in hand. I’d spotted Dorothy earlier, positioning herself right next to the dessert display like the spotlight was already on her. Perfect. 

In the dark, I “accidentally” knocked into another waiter approaching her. 

He stumbled forward with a full tray of rich chocolate ganache tarts and raspberry sauce. Straight into Dorothy.

The sounds were beautiful. Wet splats. A high-pitched yelp that cut through the darkness like a siren. 

Fabric tore as she struggled upright, breath uneven, disoriented in the wreckage she had already created. 
In the darkness, she was no longer just flailing…she was ricocheting through the room like a loose spark.

Glass shattered near the dessert table, syrupy sweetness splattering across the floor as she slammed into it, sending plates skidding and collapsing in a domino of clinks and crashes. Someone yelled her name…too late…because she spun out of control again, knocking a chair sideways into another guest’s legs.

I shifted just enough at the right moment and my foot met her path like fate.

Dorothy stumbled hard, trying to recover, but instead collided into someone behind her, dragging them down with her in a tangled heap of fabric, limbs, and startled screams. 

That someone crashed into a waiter, who dropped a tray of drinks that exploded across the floor in a glittering spray of glass and liquid.

More bodies went down trying to avoid the mess. A hand grabbed a tablecloth for balance and brought half the dessert display crashing with it…cakes collapsing, frosting smearing across shoes, laughter turning into panicked shouting.

The room was still half-dark, voices overlapping, panic swelling in waves…but I didn’t give it a chance to settle.
I pulled out my torchlight and turned it on.

Sharp clicks cut through the noise as some of the guests began switching on their phone torches, beams of light cutting through the darkness in jittery flashes. 

Someone yelled for security to check what was wrong with the lights, their voice rising over the confusion and scattered panic.

The beam from my torch snapped on instantly, white and unforgiving, and I aimed it straight at Dorothy’s face.

She froze for half a second…just long enough for the light to hit her full force.

She recoiled violently, hands flying up too late to shield her eyes, stumbling backward into nothing. 

Her heel caught on the edge of a broken chair and she went down hard, dragging the chair with her in a loud scrape that sent another ripple of screams through the crowd.

Someone tried to help her up. Wrong move.
She flailed, still blinded, and slammed into them instead…sending both of them crashing into a leaning dessert stand. 

It collapsed under the impact with a wet, sugary explosion as plates, cream, and broken glass scattered everywhere.

I didn’t move the torch.

I kept it steady on her, a cruel spotlight she couldn’t escape since she loved the spotlight so much. Each step she took turned into another misstep, another crash and another scream.

By the time the lights finally stabilized and flickered back to full brightness, the room was already unrecognizable…chairs overturned, desserts destroyed, guests disheveled and shouting over each other.

And right in the center of it all, Dorothy was still trying to get up.

Chocolate ganache smeared across her chest and face like expensive war paint. Raspberry sauce dripped from her hair like blood from a bad horror movie. 

Her expensive dress? One strap snapped, the side zipper busted open from her fall, revealing way more than she’d ever planned. A half-eaten tart clung to her shoulder like a sad brooch. She looked like a cake that had lost a fight with a blender.

People stared. Then the whispers started as phones raised and a few of Blake's lackeys took pictures of her. 

Rich people distanced themselves from her…everyone taking a polite step back like she was contagious. 

No one offered a hand. A few older women wrinkled their noses. One guy actually laughed behind his champagne flute.

A frustrated, furious scream cut through the chaos right at that moment.

Every head in the room snapped toward the sound.
Mrs. Harrington stood there like a wrecked monument of elegance…her once-impeccable dress now smeared with thick streaks of chocolate frosting, her hair half-unpinned and falling in disarray, makeup ruined and streaking down her cheeks. 

She looked less like a host and more like someone who had been dragged through the aftermath of a disaster.

Her husband hurried to her side immediately, steadying her as she swayed in shock, trying to regain her composure.

Her gaze locked onto Dorothy as she began to march forward before anyone could stop her.

Dorothy barely had time to lift her head. She was still blinking through the chaos, still trying to make sense of what had just happened.

“I can explain—” She started, but the words never finished.