Sienna's POV:

"Audrey? What are you doing here?"

I stood at the entrance of the Thornton estate, so shocked my voice nearly failed me. How on earth did she get in? I had spent the entire day under the hands of stylists, determined to be the center of attention tonight. Yet here was Audrey, standing in a crimson dress that made her look like a cinematic icon.

"I was invited," she replied calmly, her fingers lightly tapping her invitation.

I bit back my rage, scanning her from head to toe. "You? To a Thornton gala? Don't be absurd," I scoffed, injecting as much disdain into my tone as possible. "A person of your background doesn't just 'get invited' to an event of this caliber. What's the secret, Audrey? Did you use your London connections to talk your way through the door?"

Audrey just smiled—a slight, knowing curve of her lips that made my blood boil. "As you can see, the invitation is real, Sienna."

"Oh, I see," I said, narrowing my eyes. "You’ve found yourself a patron, haven't you? Someone with enough influence to buy you a seat at the table. Just be careful; in New York, a borrowed shine doesn't last long."

Audrey’s gaze turned ice-cold. "Your perspective is as narrow as it is exhausting, Sienna. Not everyone views a gala as a hunting ground."

Without another word, she turned on her heel and walked toward the ballroom. Her silhouette was the picture of elegance, and the way she ignored me felt like a deliberate insult.

Don't lose your cool, Sienna, I told myself. The night is young.

I scanned the room, hunting for Caspar Thornton. He was the reason I was here—the legendary "King C." I was confident that with my beauty and wit, I could capture the attention of New York’s most elusive bachelor.

As I navigated the crowd, a tall man approached me. "Hello, beautiful lady. I'm Brandon Thornton," he introduced himself, his eyes twinkling with a mischievous light.

He wasn't Caspar, but he was a Thornton. I adjusted my expression, flashing a graceful smile. Brandon was Caspar’s cousin, a man known more for his social life than his business acumen, but still a valuable connection.

"Sienna Bailey," I said, extending my hand.

"A pleasure, Sienna. Why is a woman as stunning as you standing alone?" He moved closer, his presence becoming a bit too familiar, his eyes scanning me with a lingering intensity that made me uneasy.

I needed to redirect his attention. Just as I was looking for an escape, I saw Audrey in the distance. A devious thought struck me.

"Brandon, do you see that lady in the red dress?" I whispered, leaning in as if sharing a secret. "That's my sister, Audrey. She’s just back from London and is quite... ambitious when it comes to meeting successful men. I’m sure she’d find your company fascinating."

Brandon’s eyes lit up. "Is that so? She certainly has a presence. Perhaps I should go introduce myself."

"You really should," I urged with a sweet smile. "She’s always looking for the right 'mentor'."

I watched him head toward Audrey, feeling a surge of satisfaction. Let her deal with the Thornton family playboy.

But my triumph was short-lived. I felt something bump into my leg. Looking down, I saw a small boy holding a glass of juice. Before I could move, the orange liquid splashed across the silver fabric of my gown—a piece worth tens of thousands of dollars.

"Oh my God!" I shrieked, watching the stain spread. "Look what you’ve done!"

The boy stood silently, staring up at me with wide, unblinking eyes. He didn't say a word.

"You little brat!" I exploded, my frustration over the night finally boiling over. "This is a custom couture gown! Do you have any idea what this costs? Where are your parents? They clearly forgot to teach you basic manners!"

My voice echoed through the ballroom. Conversations died down as guests turned to stare. The boy’s shoulders trembled slightly, but he remained quiet, which only fueled my anger.

"Answer me! You’re a little savage!" I continued, my voice growing shriller. "Your parents should be ashamed of raising such a—"

"That is enough."

A deep, chillingly authoritative voice cut through the air. I turned around, my heart plummeting into my stomach as the crowd parted.

Caspar Thornton stood there, his expression a mask of cold, lethal fury.