Mia floated out of the store like she was walking on clouds.

"Viv… am I dreaming?"

She pinched herself hard and winced at the pain.

"Not a dream."

I ushered her into the Rolls-Royce Phantom parked at the curb — the butler had just delivered it.

"This car… is yours too?" Mia ran her fingers across the starlight headliner, her voice trembling.

"Yeah, a hand-me-down from my grandfather," I said casually.

It was actually a limited custom edition. Only three in the world.

Mia took a deep breath, then turned to face me with a dead-serious expression.

"Vivian Sinclair. Be honest with me. Are you some billionaire's mistress? Because if you are, you have to tell me! I know you've got money now, but being a homewrecker never ends well!"

I almost choked on my water.

"What are you even — I told you, it's an inheritance!"

I tossed the probate documents into her lap.

Mia flipped through them, her eyes growing wider with every line.

"Thousands… millions… billions… ten BILLION?!"

She screamed and nearly passed out.

"Calm down." I shook my head. "That's just the start."

Mia lunged at me, clinging to my leg. "I'm riding with you from now on! Linda, the finishing school — they can all go to hell!"

Seeing her bounce back like that, I felt a wave of relief.

But it wasn't over.

Linda was the type to hold a grudge over the smallest slight.

After today's humiliation, there was no way she'd let it go.

Sure enough, before we even got home, Mia's phone buzzed again.

This time it wasn't a text. It was a livestream notification.

Linda had gone live.

The title was sensational: EXPOSED: Washed-Up Influencer and Fake Socialite Run Credit Card Fraud Ring at Luxury Mall!

In the stream, Linda was sobbing on camera.

"Everyone, I'm absolutely heartbroken. I tried to teach these girls proper etiquette, tried to help them move up in the world. And what did they do? Not only were they ungrateful — they used a stolen card to commit fraud at a luxury boutique!"

"I've already contacted the mall and the police. These criminals must be punished!"

Faye chimed in beside her: "Exactly! That Vivian girl can't even afford takeout on a normal day — how could she possibly buy millions of dollars' worth of anything? It's obviously a stolen or cloned card!"

The comments were a flood of outrage.

"Disgusting!"

"Lock them up!"

"Dox them! Don't let them get away!"

Mia stared at the livestream, shaking with fury.

"How can they twist everything like this?! Your card went through!"

I watched Linda's fake tearful face on the screen, my expression cold.

She was clever, I'd give her that.

She knew the public loved to tear down anyone who seemed to have undeserved wealth. She knew how to weaponize outrage.

She was betting I wouldn't dare come forward to set the record straight — or that my money was dirty.

After all, a nobody who was scraping by yesterday suddenly spending millions today? That did look suspicious.

"If she wants to make a scene, let's help her make it bigger."

I pulled out my phone and dialed.

"Attorney Whitfield? I need you to draft several cease-and-desist letters. Defamation and slander. Also, dig into Linda's finishing school — I want every piece of dirt you can find. The more detailed, the better."

After hanging up, I turned to Mia.

"Tomorrow night's gala is the real show. Linda wants to blacklist us? Let's find out who's really blacklisting whom."

The next evening. Summit Manor — the most exclusive private club in New York.

Tonight was the annual Charity Elite Night.

Everyone here was real money. Net worth starting at ten billion.

Linda's so-called "finishing school" was really just a pipeline — funneling girls to these rich men as companions.

She'd packaged herself as an etiquette coach and the girls as socialites, skimming massive commissions and tuition fees off the top.

Tonight was her "graduation ceremony" — and her sales pitch.

When Mia and I arrived, the entrance was already lined with luxury cars.

Mia was wearing the haute couture gown from yesterday, her palms slick with nervous sweat.

"Viv, can we actually get in? I heard security tonight is insane — no invitation, you get tossed out on the spot."

"Relax."

I linked my arm through hers and walked toward the entrance.

The security guards saw me and immediately bowed with respect.

"Ms. Sinclair, welcome."

Mia stared at me in shock.

I smiled. "Oh, I forgot to mention — Summit Manor is another part of my grandfather's estate."

Mia had officially gone numb.

The moment we stepped into the ballroom, we turned heads.

Mia was stunning.

That priceless gown draped perfectly over her figure, and I'd hired a top stylist yesterday to complete the transformation. She looked like a princess who'd stepped straight out of a fairytale.

The "socialite students" in their rented dresses and caked-on foundation faded into the background instantly.

Linda was in a corner with her students, toasting a heavyset middle-aged man with a beer belly.

When she spotted us walking in, her face went white.

"How did they get in?!" Faye blurted out.

Linda clenched her jaw, set down her glass, and marched over.

"Security! Where is security?! How is anyone just walking in?!"

Her shrill voice drew every eye in the room.

Several guards came running, but the moment they saw me, they froze. Nobody moved.

Linda didn't notice the hesitation. She jabbed a finger in my face and screamed:

"Vivian! Mia! You've got some nerve! You steal a card and then show up here to pull another con?! I will call the police right now!"

Murmurs rippled through the crowd.

"A stolen card? Really?"

"They don't look the type — she carries herself well."

"You never know. Scammers these days come in pretty packaging."

The heavyset man waddled over, leering at Mia from head to toe, then turned to Linda.

"Linda, is this the disobedient student you mentioned? Not bad looking. Just needs a little breaking in."

Linda instantly switched to a fawning smile.

"Mr. Briggs, patience. A wild filly like her is more fun once she's tamed. But first, we need to teach them their place."

Then she turned to me, eyes venomous.

"Vivian, I don't care how you snuck in. Get out. Now. Or I'll expose your little credit card scam to everyone here!"

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Evidence? Let's see it."

Linda smirked and pulled out her phone, showing a photo on screen.

"This is from the bank — that black card was reported stolen! You're not even the cardholder!"

She held the phone up for the crowd to see.

It was a doctored image, of course. But in a setting like this, it was enough to sow doubt.

The crowd erupted.

"She really is a thief!"

"How shameless!"

"Throw her out — she's tainting the whole event!"

Faye was beaming with triumph. "What do you have to say now, Vivian? You put on a good show at the boutique, but the truth always comes out!"

Mia wanted to charge forward and argue, but I held her back.

I looked at Linda, my voice even.

"Linda. Are you sure you want to do this here?"

"Scared?" Linda stepped closer. "Then get on your knees! Slap each other like I told you yesterday — until I'm satisfied! Maybe if Mr. Briggs is in a good mood, he'll throw you some scraps."

Briggs chuckled and reached out to touch Mia's face.

"Come with me, sweetheart. I'll keep you fed and happy — no need to steal and scheme…"

His hand was inches from Mia's cheek.

CRACK.

A slap echoed through the entire ballroom.

It wasn't Mia.

It was me.

I backhanded Briggs across his greasy face with everything I had.

The room went deathly silent.

Everyone was stunned.

Striking someone at Summit Manor's gala — and not just anyone, but the wealthy Mr. Briggs.

It was suicide.

Briggs clutched his face, staring at me in disbelief, then erupted in a roar:

"You hit me?! Do you have any idea who I am?!"

Linda shrieked. "Vivian! You've lost your mind! Don't drag us down with you!"

She spun toward the guards and screamed: "What are you standing around for?! Grab this lunatic! Break her hands!"

The guards exchanged glances. Still, nobody moved.

Linda was apoplectic. She lunged at me, clawing for my hair.

"ENOUGH!"

A commanding voice thundered from the second floor.

Everyone looked up.

An elderly man in an impeccably tailored three-piece suit was descending the staircase, flanked by a phalanx of men in black.

The instant the crowd recognized him, every face in the room changed — including Briggs, mid-rage.

It was Mr. Hartford. New York's true power broker.

The official steward of Summit Manor — and my grandfather's closest friend.

Linda spotted Mr. Hartford and assumed her savior had arrived. She rushed toward him.

"Mr. Hartford! Thank God you're here! These two women crashed the gala — they've been stealing, scamming, and assaulting people! They've destroyed the sanctity of this event! You must punish them!"

Briggs stumbled over too, hand still on his cheek. "Mr. Hartford, this girl is out of control — she even hit me! She's spitting in your face!"

Mr. Hartford didn't spare either of them a glance.

He walked straight to me.

Then, in full view of every stunned face in the room, he gave a slight bow and said respectfully:

"Ms. Sinclair. I'm sorry you had to endure that."