Chapter 2 - The Heir’s Target
The charity gala was in full swing by 9:30 PM. String quartets played softly from the mezzanine, while champagne flowed like water, loosening tongues and lowering defenses.
My target wasn’t Arthur. It was his daughter, Chloe Vanderbilt—a carbon copy of her father, wrapped in a custom champagne silk gown that cost more than my entire college tuition. Chloe had inherited her father’s ruthlessness without an ounce of his business sense, spending her days terrorizing junior executives and her nights making headlines in the gossip columns.
I drifted toward the corner of the ballroom where Chloe was holding court with a group of wealthy young heirs.
“Honestly, if I see another middle-class startup trying to pitch on my father’s venture floor, I’m going to throw up,” Chloe laughed, taking a sip from her glass. Her eyes scanned the room, looking for a target for her next cruel amusement.
She spotted me standing near the mahogany pillar, tray in hand.
“You there—maid!” Chloe called out, her voice cutting sharply over the chatter of the string quartet.
I walked over, keeping my head bowed just enough to hide the sharp, calculating glint in my eyes. “Yes, Miss Vanderbilt?”
“My glass is practically warm,” she said, holding out her empty flute and letting it drop onto my silver tray with a sharp clatter. “Bring me a fresh one, and make sure it’s actually chilled this time, or I’ll have your agency blacklisted from every hotel in Manhattan before midnight.”
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“Right away, miss,” I said softly, turning away.
As I walked toward the service bar, I felt the eyes of her friends burning into my back, giggling at the public humiliation. Let them laugh. The higher they climbed tonight, the harder the fall would be.
