That's when Clara lowered her voice, leaning in close. "You think this game you're playing will end with you on top? That man may hold your hand for now, but once he hears the rumors, sees the tears I can cry—do you really think he'll choose you?"
Ella's fingers twitched at her sides. Her breath was steady, but the cold fury in her chest pulsed like a storm.
Clara leaned back, her expression turning theatrical. "Oh, dear," she said loudly, just as a few guests appeared at the edge of the hallway. "You're upset."
Ella's eyes flicked over Clara's shoulder—several people were watching now, lingering just out of earshot.
Clara's smile turned cruel.
"You know what I think, Ella?" she said louder, playing to the invisible audience. "You're jealous. You've always been jealous. Of my family. My life. My place in society. You can dress like a queen, but we all know what's underneath."
And then—she staggered back.
Dramatically.
