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I narrowed my eyes. “A sample of what, exactly?”
Before she could answer, Christian appeared at my side, his presence as commanding as ever.
“That’s a great question,” he said, his voice deceptively casual. “And one I’m sure the press would love to hear the answer to.”
Victoria’s mask slipped, her eyes flicking to the journalists scattered around the room.
One of them, a sharp-looking woman fromFood Weekly, had her camera pointed directly at us.
Reynolds swallowed hard. “I?—”
“I’d be careful with what you say next,” Christian cut in smoothly. “Wouldn’t want to incriminate yourself.”
Panic flickered across Victoria’s face. “This is absurd,” she snapped. “Are we really making a scene over a harmless sample?”
I held out my hand. “Then you won’t mind if I take a look.”
She hesitated, but under the weight of Christian’s glare and the press’s growing attention, she had no choice.
She passed me the container.
I flipped the lid open, my stomach churning at the sight of what was inside. Mold. Rotten food. An obvious setup meant to make it look like it had come from my kitchen.
I lifted my gaze, letting the weight of my fury show.
“You really thought this would work?” I demanded.
Victoria’s lips parted, but before she could say a word, Christian turned to the nearest reporter. “I think we’ve seen enough, don’t you?” Christian asked.
The reporter stepped forward, her camera flashing. “Miss Snow, do you have a comment on this?”
Victoria’s face paled. “I—I had no idea?—”
Christian chuckled darkly. “That’s interesting, considering we have evidence linking you to multiple attempts to sabotage Amélie. Would you like to explain those, too?”
She was trapped. There was no smooth way out of this one.
And she knew it.
Victoria turned on her heel and stormed toward the exit, her heels clicking furiously against the marble floor.
Cameras followed her, reporters whispering amongst themselves. The damage was done.
She had lost.
I exhaled slowly, my hands still clenched into fists.
Christian turned to me, his expression softer now. “It’s over.”
I nodded, and the tension in my chest finally eased. Victoria was humiliated, her reputation in shambles.
“Thank you,” I told Christian.
His hand came to rest on the small of my back. “You don’t have to thank me. We did this together.”
I let out a small, shaky laugh. “Yeah, we did.”
But as I looked out across the ballroom, watching the way people whispered, some glancing at me with a mixture of admiration and wariness, a new fear crept in.