The sharp, ringing crack of the crystal glass shattering against the polished marble floor echoed over the low hum of the ballroom chatter. Ice and water splattered across the hem of my emerald green gown, but I couldn't bring myself to look down. My eyes remained locked on the VIP balcony, my chest tightening so hard it felt like my ribs were caving in.
Dr. Billy.
It wasn't possible. Eight years ago, he was the chief of medicine in Chicago who had looked at a desperate, pregnant girl and agreed to sign the forged papers. He was the one who helped me build the temporary identity of Chloe Valentine so I could protect my unborn son away from the lethal world of the Reeds.
But the man standing in the elite academy's private gallery tonight didn't look like a savior. He was raising a champagne glass to me, a smug, venomous smirk twisting his features.
