Page 18 of Vendetta Vows

"You think these threats of yours mean anything?" Sienna doesn't respond. Instead, she walks to the bar and snatches up an unopened bottle of champagne. The bottle dangles from her manicured fingers.

My stomach twists with dread.

"Fuck you, Ruslan!" Sienna's face contorts with rage as she looks at both of us. "And as for you, little bitch, there's going to be a day when you regret ever meeting him."

Before anyone can react, she hurls the champagne bottle straight at the floor-to-ceiling window. The impact is deafening. Glass shatters in a spectacular spray as the bottle and shards cascade down toward the club below.

The music stops abruptly, replaced by screams and shouts of surprise. Two broad-shouldered men in black suits materialize instantly. Ruslan gestures toward Sienna.

"Take her downstairs." His voice is steel. "Now."

One of the men takes Sienna firmly by the arm and she shrieks. "Don't you dare fucking touch me."

Ruslan turns to me, his expression softening as he sighs.

"I am so sorry about this. Please wait here. I need to handle this situation, and I'll be right back."

Without waiting for my response, he follows the security team as they escort a still-laughing Sienna out. I'm left alone in the VIP room, my heart hammering against my ribs.

I step toward the broken window, careful to avoid the glass shards crunching beneath my feet, and look down.

The moment I do, my blood freezes.

The club has transformed. The sea of dancing bodies has become a crowd of upturned faces, all staring at the broken window.

At me.

Between the furious pounding of my heart, my brain replays the sound of Sienna's phone-camera shutter clicking.

She took a photo.

Of me.

Look what you made me do.

Panic surges through my veins. She's going to post it! It's going to be online!

Searchable. Findable.

Kristofer.

"No, no, no," I mutter, stumbling backward, almost tripping over my dress. I rush to the frosted glass door and yank it open.

Alina is standing outside, looking concerned. "Excuse me, Mr. Dragunov asked that you?—"

"I need to go downstairs. Now." My voice doesn't sound like my own.

"Mr. Dragunov specifically requested?—"

"I don't care what he requested!" I snap, then take a breath. "I need to leave. Now!"

Something in my voice or my expression must have convinced her. "This way," she says reluctantly. "We can take the service elevator."

My face feels hot, then cold, as everyone's eyes are trained on me. Murmurs of gossip buzz around me like a hive of angry bees speculating about who I am and what I did to offend Sienna Voss. The room spins. Panic chokes my throat.

As soon as we reach the main floor, I break away from Alina, pushing through bodies, desperate to find an exit. I spot a door marked "Restroom" and dive for it.

Inside, I lock myself in a stall, breathing hard. This can't be happening. After seven years of careful anonymity, I've just exposed myself in the most public way possible.

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