The heavy iron gates of the East Lake Villa slammed shut with a loud, ringing thud, cutting off the pathetic, sobbing wails of Preston Croft as the security guards dragged the ruined executive straight into the street gutter.
A dead, horrifying silence smothered the sprawling courtyard, as the evening wind rustled the decorative silk banners, leaving every single elite guest and snobby family member staring at the shattered, glowing crystal shards of the thirty-million-dollar masterpiece resting on the stone pathway.
Standing entirely alone near the head table was Isabella Vance, her flashy red dress suddenly looking like a cheap, tacky rag in the shadow of Rick's overwhelming, god-tier presence.
Her chest heaved with ragged breaths, as her fake eyelashes fluttered in pure panic, because she had just watched her golden ticket to high-society wealth get fired, blacklisted, and buried under a mountain of debt in a matter of three minutes.
