Chapter 103
Evelyn's POV
She was right, and she knew it. I couldn't afford to cause a scene, couldn't risk drawing that kind of attention. Not here, not now.
But that didn't mean I had to tolerate this.
"You think I need to hit you to make your life difficult?" I met Scarlett's eyes, letting her see something of what I really was beneath the polished surface. "I know things about both of you. The kind of things that could destroy reputations and ruin carefully constructed lives."
Scarlett's smile faltered slightly. "You're bluffing."
"Am I?" I shifted my weight, and she instinctively loosened her grip. "Vivian, how is Sawyer these days? Still under the impression you're a virgin saving yourself for marriage? And Scarlett—does your family know about the credit card debt? The one you've been hiding while pretending to be an heiress?"
I'd heard it all during that interminable spa day Isabella had dragged me to last week. While we were getting our nails done, the manicurist—who apparently did nails for half of Manhattan's elite—had gossiped freely, assuming I was just another society wife who'd appreciate the drama.
Isabella had been horrified by the stories, immediately jumping to her friends' defense. "Oh, that can't be true. Vivian and Scarlett would never—they're such good friends." She'd gone on about their loyalty, their kindness, how lucky she was to have them.
I hadn't said anything at the time. But watching them now, seeing the vicious satisfaction in their eyes as they tried to humiliate me, I couldn't help thinking that Isabella really needed to work on her friend selection skills.
The color drained from both their faces.
"You're lying," Vivian said, but her voice had lost its confidence.
"Try me." I pulled my arm free from Scarlett's now-slack grip. "Touch me again, speak to me again, even look at me the wrong way, and I'll make sure every society columnist in New York gets an anonymous tip about your little secrets. Now get out of my way."
But instead of backing down, Scarlett's expression hardened. "You think you can threaten us? You're nothing, Evelyn. Just a gold-digging widow who got lucky when Arthur died."
"At least I'm not faking my entire background to trap a rich husband," I shot back.
Scarlett's face flushed with anger. She reached out again, this time grabbing for my clutch. "You little—"
I jerked back, pulling the bag away from her, but Vivian grabbed my other arm, yanking hard. The clutch slipped from my fingers.
Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. The bag hit the deck, bounced once, and skidded across the smooth surface toward the edge of the pool. I lunged for it, but Scarlett deliberately stepped in my way.
The clutch slid through a gap in the decking—some kind of service access or drainage channel—and disappeared into darkness below.
For a moment, we all just stared at the opening.
Then Scarlett smiled. "Oops."
My hands clenched into fists. Every cell in my body screamed at me to grab her by the throat, to slam her against the nearest wall, to make her understand exactly what kind of mistake she'd just made.
But I couldn't. Not here. Not with witnesses.
"You did that on purpose," I said, my voice deadly quiet.
"Did what?" Vivian's eyes were wide with mock innocence. "You're the one who pulled away so dramatically. If you'd just stood still, your bag wouldn't have fallen."
"It's just a bag anyway." Scarlett examined her nails with exaggerated nonchalance. "Whatever was in it probably wasn't that important. And look—" She gestured at the party continuing around us. "Everyone's busy celebrating. Just wait until the party's over and ask the crew to fish it out. I'm sure they have people who can access those maintenance areas."
I took a step toward her, my voice dropping to something that made her smile falter. "You have no idea what you just did."
"Oh please." But Scarlett took an involuntary step back. "Don't be so dramatic. It's just a bag."
"Is it?" I moved closer, watching her retreat. "You sure about that?"
"We should get back to the party." Vivian grabbed Scarlett's arm, pulling her away. "Isabella will be wondering where we are."
"Yeah." Scarlett's bravado was cracking now, uncertainty creeping into her expression. "Enjoy fishing your bag out of the bilge, Evelyn. Try not to ruin your dress."
They walked away quickly, almost running, leaving me standing alone by the pool.
I stared at the gap where my clutch had disappeared, my mind racing. Isabella's ring. The priceless Winthrop family heirloom. Gone.
And I had maybe an hour before Isabella would ask for it back.
I moved closer to the opening and peered down. It was dark, but I could make out the shape of what looked like a maintenance corridor about ten feet below. The space seemed to run beneath the pool area—probably some kind of technical access for the filtration system. My clutch had landed on a metal grating, barely visible in the dim emergency lighting.
My phone was in that bag too. No way to call Julian, no way to ask for help.
Not that I would have. I'd spent five years solving problems on my own, in situations far more dangerous than retrieving a bag from a maintenance corridor. And the last thing I needed was to make this public, to have crew members asking questions, to risk word getting back to Isabella that I'd lost her ring.
Besides, for someone with my training, climbing down into a maintenance space and back up again shouldn't be difficult. I'd infiltrated buildings through air ducts, scaled walls, navigated spaces far more challenging than this.
I could handle this myself.
I glanced around. The pool area was still empty, everyone occupied with the party on the other side of the yacht. Good. The last thing I needed was an audience.
I kicked off my heels and set them aside, then sat on the edge of the gap. The drop was manageable—maybe ten feet to the metal grating below. I'd done worse during training.
I lowered myself through the opening, hanging by my hands for a moment to reduce the drop, then let go.