After His Mother Took My Hearing, I Took Everything

Eleven million dollars was a deep wound, but it wasn't a kill shot. Reed was a survivor. He would find new investors. He would spin the broken engagement. If I wanted to crush him completely, I needed a bigger weapon. A nuclear one.

I needed Dallas Carlson.

Dallas was Reed’s uncle and the apex predator of Seattle’s business world. He had the power to snap TechSource in half with one phone call. But a man like Dallas didn't just help cocktail hostesses. He needed a reason to look at me.

There was a rumor in the lounge. Whispers about Dallas's past. A dead girlfriend from years ago. They said he never got over her. They said she had a very specific look. Pale skin, dark hair, and she always wore vintage white dresses.

I looked in the mirror. I could be a ghost. I could be his perfect, tragic replacement.

I went to a thrift store on the edge of town. I flipped through racks of smelling clothes until I found it. A white silk gown from the nineties. It cost me forty-two dollars. The lace on the bodice was slightly frayed, but the cut was elegant. I took it home and tailored the waist myself.

The Starlight Charity Gala was held at the Grand Hotel on Saturday. Half of Seattle’s elite would be there. Dallas Carlson was the keynote speaker.

I got in through the service entrance. I knew the catering manager from my old life. I slipped into an employee bathroom, changed into the white dress, and pinned my hair up. I left a few dark strands loose around my neck.

When I stepped into the ballroom, the chandeliers threw fractured light across the floor. I didn't look at the ice sculptures or the caviar. I scanned the room for Dallas.

I found him near the center. He wore a black three-piece suit. He looked untouchable.

I moved slowly. I positioned myself by a massive floral arrangement, right in his line of sight. I turned my body slightly, letting the light catch the white silk. I waited for him to notice me.

My fingers tapped a silent, nervous rhythm against my thigh. C, D, E, F, G.

"Well, look what the rat dragged in."

The voice came from my left. My bad side. I didn't hear the footsteps, just the sudden, shrill tone cutting through the murmur of the crowd.

I turned. Martha Thompson stood there, dripping in heavy, outdated pearls. Her hands clutched a beaded designer bag like a weapon. Right beside her was Kayla Munoz, wearing a red couture dress and a vicious smile.

My chest tightened. I forced my breathing to slow down.

"Mrs. Thompson," I said quietly.

"Don't speak to me," Martha hissed. She stepped closer. "How did a bankrupt little whore get past security? Did you sleep with the valets?"

Heads began to turn. The ambient noise of the gala dipped.

"I'm a guest," I lied smoothly.

Kayla let out a sharp, ugly laugh. "In that? It looks like a cheap bedsheet. Are you trying to play dress-up, Elizabeth?"

I kept my face blank. "Excuse me. I'm going to get a drink."

I tried to step past them, but Martha blocked my path. She leaned in, aiming her voice directly at my left ear.

"What's wrong, dear?" Martha mocked, her voice loud enough for the growing circle of onlookers to hear. "Can't hear me? Still deaf on that side?"

My nails bit into my palms. The ghost of her hand slapping my face a decade ago burned on my cheek.

"Or maybe you're just stupid," Kayla chimed in. She looked down at my hands. "Look at those fingers. So rough now. Such a shame about your little piano dreams. You used to think you were so special."

I didn't shrink. I stood taller. I looked Martha dead in the eye. "My hearing is fine, Martha. But your manners are exactly as cheap as I remember."

Martha’s face flushed a violent, ugly red. Her grip on her purse tightened so hard her knuckles went white.

"You ruined my son's engagement," Martha spat. "You ruined my family's peace. You are trash, Elizabeth Hill!"

Before I could brace myself, Kayla grabbed a full flute of champagne from a passing waiter's tray.

She didn't hesitate. She threw it right at my face.

The cold liquid hit me hard. It soaked my hair and ran down my forehead, stinging my eyes. It dripped down my neck, plastering the fragile white silk to my chest. The cheap fabric immediately turned translucent.

Someone in the crowd gasped. The silence in the ballroom was suddenly deafening.

I stood frozen. The champagne dripped from my chin and hit the marble floor. Drop. Drop. Drop.

Kayla smirked, clinking her empty glass against a heavy diamond bracelet. Martha looked down at me with pure, unadulterated disgust.

I didn't wipe my face. I didn't cry. I just stood there, dripping and humiliated under the bright chandelier lights, my hands clenched so tight they shook.

And then, the crowd parted.