The embarrassment of the necklace was merely the appetizer; Evelyn knew the main course was yet to come. In her past life, Sarah had approached her with a "sisterly" toast—a glass of champagne spiked with a sedative that had left Evelyn disoriented, leading to a staged scandal in the coat closet with a hired waiter.
Evelyn watched through the reflection of a gilded mirror as Sarah huddled with Marcus in a corner. After a hushed, frantic conversation, Sarah smoothed her dress and grabbed two flutes from a passing server. She lingered by the tray for a fraction of a second too long—the tell-tale sign of a predator prepping the bait.
"Eve, let's put that little jewelry misunderstanding behind us," Sarah said, gliding over with a porcelain smile. She held out a glass. "A toast to your new life?"
Evelyn looked at the bubbles. A toast to the death of the girl you once knew.
"Of course," Evelyn said warmly. Just as she reached for the glass, she let out a small, startled gasp, looking past Sarah's shoulder. "Oh my, is that the Mayor? Sarah, look, he's wearing that atrocious tie you mocked earlier!"
Sarah instinctively turned her head. In that split second, Evelyn's hands moved with the speed of a practiced magician. She swapped the flutes with a silent, fluid motion.
"Oh, I must have been mistaken," Evelyn chuckled as Sarah turned back. "Cheers."
Sarah looked relieved, her eyes gleaming with malice as she watched Evelyn take a sip. Sarah drained her own glass with a triumphant flourish. "I'm so glad we're on the same page, sister."
Twenty minutes later, the effects took hold. Sarah began to sway, her words slurring as she complained of the room being "far too hot." Evelyn watched with clinical detachment as Sarah wandered toward the quiet corridors of the west wing, looking for air.
Evelyn didn't follow. She waited.
"Where's Sarah?" Marcus asked, stepping up to Evelyn. He looked nervous, checking his watch.
"I think she went toward the coat closet to check on her... necklace," Evelyn replied, her voice a silk-wrapped blade.
A sudden commotion erupted near the entrance. A group of guests had stumbled upon a scene: Sarah, half-undressed and babbling incoherently, draped over a waiter who was frantically trying to push her away. The cameras flashed. The "Vance Family Scandal" was no longer Evelyn's burden to carry.
Evelyn pulled Marcus aside, away from the gasping crowd. His face was pale, his eyes darting toward the scene of his failing plan.
"Marcus," she said, her voice dropping to a terrifying, quiet register. "Sarah's behavior is... shameful. A disgrace to my family name. I'm afraid I can't possibly marry into a situation so... unstable."
"Eve, wait, it's just a misunderstanding—"
"The engagement is over, Marcus. Don't bother calling. My lawyers will handle the return of the ring—assuming you didn't buy that at the same 'glass shop' where you found Sarah's necklace."
She didn't wait for his reply. Evelyn walked through the front doors, the cool night air hitting her face like a benediction. She was no longer a victim, but she was still a target. It was time to find a shield.