Chapter 8
The Gallagher estate was in chaos the next afternoon.
A team of elite stylists and makeup artists swarmed Candice's bedroom, spraying perfume and pinning up her hair.
Helen's room was dead quiet. No one came to help her. She didn't care.
She reached into the very bottom of her canvas duffel bag and pulled out a simple, black velvet slip dress. It had no designer tags. Her mother had sewn it by hand years ago. The cut was flawless, designed to move like a second skin.
At six o'clock, Candice strutted down the hallway and stopped at Helen's open door. She was squeezed into a blindingly bright, diamond-encrusted gown.
Candice touched the massive diamond necklace resting on her collarbone. "Tonight is the most exclusive event in New York," she bragged, her voice shrill.
She leaned against the doorframe. "The guest of honor is Damian Montgomery. He runs the city. If I can get his attention tonight, everyone will bow to me."
Candice looked Helen up and down, waiting to see jealousy or insecurity on her face.
Helen stood in front of the mirror, calmly braiding her dark hair into a simple French plait. She raised one eyebrow.
"Do all the Montgomery men have a fetish for cheap disco balls?" Helen asked, her tone deadpan.
Candice gasped, her face turning ugly with rage. "You listen to me! You hide in the corner tonight! Don't you dare try to speak to anyone important!"
Helen didn't even look at her. She picked up her small black clutch. "Boring."
Candice let out a frustrated scream. She spun around and stomped down the hall. As she turned the corner, she crashed into a maid carrying a tray of water glasses.
Water splashed onto Candice's expensive hem. Candice shrieked and slapped the maid hard across the face.
Helen watched from her doorway. A cold knot of disgust tightened in her stomach.
At eight o'clock, the Gallagher limousines pulled up to a towering luxury hotel in Manhattan.
The red carpet was blinding. Flashbulbs exploded as Fredy and Sylvia posed for the paparazzi, pushing Candice to the front.
Helen hung back. She stepped out of the car and walked quickly past the cameras, keeping her head down.
The black velvet dress clung to her tall, athletic frame. She wore no jewelry, but her cold, untouchable aura made several wealthy guests turn their heads to stare at her.
Candice noticed the attention. She bit her lip so hard it bled, intentionally stepping in front of Helen to block her from view.
Helen ignored her. As soon as she stepped into the massive, gold-leafed ballroom, her eyes began to scan the architecture.
Her muscles tensed, her brain automatically mapping the exits, identifying the blind spots behind the pillars, and counting the armed security guards in plain clothes.
Just as she finished her mental map, a massive wave of noise rolled through the room.
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