Page 224 of Invisible Bars

There was no warmth or smile in his greeting… just acknowledgment.

I snickered under my breath. It was obvious she expected him to say more.

Aaliyah flicked her eyes to me—finally acknowledging the woman whose seat she thought she'd earned but never secured.

“Oh! And you must be the infamous Mrs. Kors!” she exclaimed, her voice dripping with a saccharine sweetness, as if she were peddling something enticing yet insincere. “How lucky are you? But wait—let me slow down! I’m sure you’re wondering—who is this heifer sliding into our space like she was invited? Well…”

As Aaliyah spoke, she clasped her hands together, a coy smile spreading across her face, and let out a soft, bashful chuckle that felt almost rehearsed, as if this were part of a performance.

“Imanio and I gowayback,” she finished.

Way back?Translation: We fucked…more than once… and I want you to know that. Right here. Right now.

The contrast between her polished demeanor and the underlying hostility was palpable, leaving me wondering how that encounter would unfold.

A tic crawled up the side of my neck, sharp and twitchy, almost like a warning bell ringing inside me. I swallowed hard, forcing it down, but I could feel the tension tightening my features, betraying my cool facade.

I watched her smile stretch wider, an expression that seemed to say she thought she was winning that mental chess match. Little did Ms. Aaliyah know, I wasdeliberatelyallowing her to take the lead, giving her just enough rope to hang herself with her own overconfidence.

“Interesting,” I tittered, keeping my voice steady and dripping with a callous undertone.

Aaliyah's sharp gaze scanned me from head to toe, her eyes glimmering with an analytical hunger, as if she were searching for weaknesses to exploit. Finally, her scrutiny landed on the elegant fit of my dress, perfectly tailored to my form, and the glimmering ice that adorned my ears, and the sparkling necklace and bracelet that cast reflections of light. I could see the flicker ofenvy flash across her face, and I relished the moment, knowing I held the upper hand.

“But look at you! You’re so gorgeous!” she squealed, oozing fake sincerity. “I reallymeanthat!”

I offered her a simpering smile, trying to mask my unease.

“Thank you.”

Aaliyah stepped closer, a playful glint in her eyes, and opened her arms wide, as if inviting me into her world.

“You don’t mind, right?” she asked, tilting her head slightly, reminiscent of a sitcom side character desperately begging for relevance. She had already begun leaning in for a hug.

Before I had a chance to respond, Aaliyah enveloped me in her embrace. Her arms wrapped around me with a familiarity that felt constricting, like a python nestled in layers of luxurious and overpowering Chanel No. 5 perfume. The scent overwhelmed my senses, making it hard to focus on anything.

And then…

Splash.

The cold red wine spread across the midsection of my white gown like a wound blooming in slow motion.

“Oh my God!” Aaliyah gasped, stepping back with the fakest wide-eyed expression I’d ever seen. “I’m so clumsy! That was—wow! I’msosorry!”

The room didn’t laugh, but they noticed. I was sure every single person saw what happened, and even if no one said a word, silence has a way of screaming when it wants to.

The tics hit me hard and fast—jerks in my neck, my shoulder twitching like something had popped loose. Before I could catch myself, the words surged to the surface, desperate to escape.

“You fake fridge magnet of a woman! Sorry—nope—no I’m not! Trip on the hem of your karma, you classless champagne gargler!”

Each syllable dripped with venom, my voice rising in defiance. My lip quivered as I fought to maintain control. I felt the tremble radiating from my chin, threatening to spill over into tears, but I locked my knees and stood tall, willing myself not to break down right there in the heat of the moment.

Aaliyah was stillshocked—hand over her chest like she hadn’t just lived for this moment.

She didn’t speak again—not that she needed to. Her eyes communicated everything, practically saying, “I did that.” There was also a fierce pride in her gaze, as if she had just achieved something monumental.

Imanio’s grip on my arm was gentle yet firm. His expression was a mix of concern and determination, signaling that he was one breath away from clearing the entire ballroom if necessary.

“Let’s go,” he muttered, urgency threading through his voice.