Chapter 7

Hannah trailed behind them toward the sofa. There was something in her presence that made Samantha uneasy, a tension that tightened with every step.

Sure enough, the moment stretched and snapped. Without warning, Hannah stepped hard on the hem of Samantha's dress.

Samantha furrowed her brows, instinctively reaching out to steady herself on Connor's arm.

But she had underestimated Hannah. This wasn't about making her trip or fall. It was about the dress.

Before Samantha could react, a ripple of gasps spread through the crowd.

Her gown—delicate, custom-fitted, elegant—split apart at the seams under the pressure, slipping off her body in a sudden whisper of silk. All that remained was the thin lingerie clinging to her frame.

"I'm so sorry, Samantha, I didn't mean to," Hannah said immediately, though her voice carried no weight of sincerity.

Eyes swarmed over Samantha, unashamed and leering.

Shame struck her like a slap, sharp and burning. She snatched the fabric from the ground, clutching it to her chest. Then, without hesitation, she raised her hand and delivered a tight slap across Hannah's face.

Color bloomed instantly on Hannah's cheek.

Connor stepped forward and yanked Hannah behind him, his eyes turning cold as they met Samantha's. "How could you hit her? She apologized! It wasn't even on purpose!"

Samantha's lashes trembled, but she said nothing. She simply stared at him.

Of course she knew. This had been orchestrated from the start—Connor and Hannah, playing their parts. The dress had been tampered with. There was no other explanation for how it fell apart so effortlessly.

He wanted to humiliate her. To break her pride in front of everyone.

But he had miscalculated.

There was no collapse, no tears, only the distant flicker of disappointment in her eyes—cool, steady, strangely calm.

Something in Connor faltered. Her gaze sent a ripple of panic through him.

His brows twitched. He reached out instinctively to take her hand, but Samantha pulled away.

"I'm sorry, Samantha, I…" He fumbled with his jacket, draping it over her shoulders. "Let me get someone to help you change. Samantha, I'm really sorry."

He kept apologizing, frantic now, but Samantha barely responded.

She let the staff guide her away, and he watched her go, unease blooming in his chest. Something had shifted. She wasn't the same.

And for the first time, he felt it—her eyes no longer held love when they looked at him.

Fear curled cold in his stomach.

"Connor," Hannah leaned in close, voice low enough for only him to hear. "I arranged for a man to go in while she's changing—just a little scare…"

"No!" Connor snapped. "Call it off. Now."

Hannah blinked in disbelief. "What?"

"I said cancel the plan!" His tone was sharp and commanding.

"But—" She faltered.

"She's already been humiliated enough!" His voice dropped again, but the anger remained. "This place is full of important people. You want to blow this up even more? I'll be the one who's shamed."

Hannah hesitated, then finally relented. "Fine."

That night, on the way home, Connor held Samantha's hand the entire time.

Somewhere deep down, he was gripped by a strange premonition. If he let go, she might vanish completely.

"Samantha… I was wrong. I shouldn't have yelled at you. Will you forgive me?"

Samantha smiled faintly, without hesitation. "Okay."