Chapter 7
Kyle shoved her way past a wealthy socialite, nearly knocking a glass of wine out of the woman's hand. She planted her feet directly in front of Beatrice Astor-Wexler.
The socialite scoffed, muttering "Trash" under her breath, but Kyle ignored her.
Kyle's eyes locked onto the massive oil painting hanging on the center wall. Autumn.
She threw her hands up in the air and let out a loud, theatrical gasp.
"Oh my god!" Kyle shouted. Her voice echoed harshly against the marble walls, cutting through the sophisticated murmur of the room. "This painting is absolutely breathtaking!"
Beatrice slowly turned her head. Her eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. She looked at Kyle with a chilling, predatory stillness.
Kyle took a deep breath and recited the words she had stolen from Marta.
"This masterpiece," Kyle announced to the room, pointing at the canvas, "is the ultimate symbol of pure, untainted love! It represents absolute loyalty and devotion!"
The temperature in the room plummeted.
The music seemed to stop. Every single person in the gallery froze. The silence was so heavy it felt suffocating. The old-money elites stared at Kyle in absolute horror.
Beatrice's face turned a sickly shade of gray. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped her champagne flute. The glass groaned under the pressure.
Kyle, completely oblivious to the deathly silence, kept going. "It is the soul of this estate! A true testament to a perfect marriage!"
Standing behind the velvet curtain, Elliana bit down hard on the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing out loud. The metallic taste of blood grounded her.
The painting was the exact gift Beatrice's ex-husband had given to his stripper mistress. It was the most humiliating public scandal in the family's history.
Beatrice took a slow, deep breath. She drew upon decades of high-society training to suppress the urge to physically assault the woman in the pink dress.
A slow, terrifyingly fake smile stretched across Beatrice's face.
"What a... unique perspective you have," Beatrice said. Her voice was devoid of any human warmth.
Kyle beamed. Her chest puffed out. She thought she had won.
Beatrice raised two fingers in the air. Instantly, Arthur, the head butler, materialized at her side.
"Arthur," Beatrice commanded, her voice ringing out clearly. "Take our special guest to the main hall. Bring out the vintage Burgundy collection. The entire reserve. We must celebrate her profound appreciation for art."
Kyle clapped her hands together. "Oh, thank you! You are too kind!"
Arthur bowed stiffly. He extended his arm toward the door. "Right this way, Madam."
Kyle strutted out of the gallery, her chin held high, looking like a peacock.
The crowd parted for her, their eyes filled with morbid pity. They knew exactly what was about to happen.
Beatrice watched Kyle leave. The fake smile vanished, replaced by pure malice. She snapped her fingers at a security guard standing by the wall and gave a sharp nod.
Elliana set her empty champagne glass on a side table. She smoothed the skirt of her Tom Ford gown.
She stepped out of the shadows and followed the crowd back into the main hall to watch the execution.
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