5. Erika #2
Erika’s cheeks burned. She stared at the bubbles rising in her glass, feeling Anneliese’s stare like a physical weight.
“How nice.” Anneliese’s voice could have frozen the champagne. “Cornering her in some hallway. Very on-brand for you.” She tilted her head, smile sharpening. “She’s not one of your costars, Stefan. She doesn’t know your game.”
Stefan didn’t take the bait. His attention stayed on Erika, genuine. “The emerald suits you, by the way. I meant to say earlier.”
“It’s borrowed,” Erika said, then immediately wished she hadn’t.
“The best things usually are.” His smile turned conspiratorial.
“God, you’re predictable.” Anneliese’s champagne flute hit the table hard enough to slosh. “The brooding charm, the lingering looks—does this actually work on people? Or just the ones who don’t know any better?”
Stefan finally looked at her sister. The warmth vanished. “You’d be surprised.”
“Stay away from her.” Anneliese’s voice was trembling now. “I mean it.”
Stefan held her gaze for a long moment. “You know, I used to think you were just ambitious. Now I’m starting to think you’re scared.” He glanced back at Erika, something softer there. “If you ever want that real conversation—you know where to find me.”
He turned to go.
“Erika.” Anneliese’s voice was sharp. “Don’t even think about it.”
Erika blinked. “Think about what? I didn’t—”
“I saw the way you looked at him.”
The accusation hung between them. Heat flooded Erika’s face—shame and anger tangled together.
Before she could respond, Anneliese was on her feet, champagne flute in hand, calling after Stefan’s retreating back.
“Annie,” Erika said quietly, reaching for her sister’s arm. “Don’t—”
But Anneliese was already moving.
“Stefan, wait,” she called out, her voice suddenly sweet.
He turned, an eyebrow raised in amusement. “Change your mind about my company?”
Anneliese closed the distance. “Actually, I wanted to tell you that you’re right. I should enjoy my evening.”
Annie, no—
And with that, she flicked her wrist, sending an arc of golden champagne splashing across the front of his impeccably tailored suit.
The room sucked in a breath. Then the phones came up. Erika’s world narrowed to the dark, spreading stain on Stefan’s jacket.
Stefan stood perfectly still, drenched, his jaw set. He didn’t look at the crowd. His eyes, cold now, flashed past Anneliese and locked directly onto Erika.
This is the game she plays. This is who you are protecting.
And the worst part? She couldn’t even argue. She’d watched Annie do this a hundred times—lose her temper, lash out, let her emotions detonate like a bomb. Someone always had to clean up after Annie. It was usually Erika.
But she’s my sister.
Erika held his gaze for one agonizing second, then looked away.
Anneliese, however, was triumphant. “Will I regret that?” Anneliese said. “Because right now, I find it rather satisfying.”
Seeing the thunderous look on Stefan’s face, Erika shot up from her seat. “Annie, that’s enough,” Erika said, putting a hand on her sister’s arm. “Let’s just go.”
“Stay out of this, Erika,” Anneliese said, brushing her sister’s hand away, her eyes locked on Stefan.
Stefan’s gaze shifted to Erika. Regret flickered there. Maybe frustration. Then his expression hardened. “Your sister’s a big girl. She can fight her own battles.”
“And you’re doing such a great job of not making it worse,” Erika shot back.
For a split second, his composure gave. Then the smirk returned, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Fair enough. But I’m not the one who just committed assault with a beverage.”
Before Erika could respond, Anneliese turned on her heel, determined to have the final exit.
But fate had other plans. As she took a sharp, defiant step, her stiletto heel caught on the edge of the plush carpet.
She stumbled, a small, undignified yelp escaping her lips as she tumbled sideways, crashing directly into a towering, multi-tiered dessert cart.
“Anneliese!” Erika shoved her chair back and dropped to her sister’s side.
For one frozen second, no one moved. Then the sound. The snap of bone.
Anneliese lay in a heap of shattered pastry and chocolate mousse, her custom LaDor dress a ruin of white silk and dark stains, like a canvas someone had thrown across the room. Erika’s panic spiked as she saw her sister’s ankle twisted inward at a sickening, unnatural angle.
Anneliese’s face twisted with pain and humiliation. “Fine,” she hissed through gritted teeth. “Just help me up.”
“I don’t think you should move.” Erika’s hand hovered over Anneliese’s shoulder. “Olivia!” she yelled, her voice cracking.
The mocking smile on Stefan’s face vanished. For a second, the arrogant actor was gone. The man from the corridor was back. His face was pale.
He stepped forward, hand outstretched. “Let me—”
Olivia stepped between them like a force field. “Back off, Cruz.” Her voice was ice. “You’ve done enough.”
“I didn’t—” He caught himself. Took a breath. His eyes found Erika’s over Olivia’s shoulder. She saw guilt there. Or the shape of it.
But it didn’t matter. Not right now.
“She’s right,” Erika said quietly, her voice steadier than she felt. “Just go.”
Something in him closed. He gave a short nod, stepped back, and disappeared into the crowd.
Olivia moved fast. “Get back!” she commanded, physically blocking a gawking bystander’s phone with her hand. She was at Anneliese’s side in an instant, a cashmere wrap pulled from somewhere to shield her client from the sea of lenses.
Her phone was to her ear, her voice low and sharp. “I need a private car at the service entrance in two minutes. No, I don’t care how. And get a statement ready: ‘unfortunate accident,’ ‘uneven carpeting.’ We’re controlling this narrative. Now.”
She looked up, her gaze locking with Erika’s, a silent order passing between them: Hold it together.
Erika turned back to her sister. She knelt beside Anneliese and took her hand. “I’ve got you,” she promised. “We’re getting out of here.”
One look at Anneliese’s ankle—twisted at that impossible angle—and Olivia’s expression closed. She was back on the phone. “Forget the car. We need an ambulance. Now.”