There was a storm brewing long before the slap.

The boutique shimmered under crystal chandeliers, but the air was laced with tension sharp enough to slice silk. Seamstresses bustled in whispers. Assistants flitted nervously. Everyone heard the commotion, every voice raised, every hiss of sarcasm. It was impossible not to.

Zara smiled faintly and sipped her lemonade like it was champagne. Her gaze swept across the chaos, lazily satisfied, like a cat watching a canary struggle in a cage. She ...