The entire ballroom watched.
And just as Vivienne brought it down, a man’s hand caught the leather in midair.
The orchestra fell silent.
A low voice spoke behind her.
“Touch her again…”
His fingers tightened around the crop.
“…and you will leave this house with nothing but the dress you are wearing.”
Vivienne turned, expecting her powerful fiancé to take her side.
After all, this was his house. His guests. His reputation.
But the smile vanished from her face.
Standing behind her was Ronan Blackwood.
Rain darkened his expensive coat.
He had returned home two days early.
And his eyes weren’t on Vivienne.
They were fixed on the blood soaking through Ivy’s shoulder.
Everyone in that ballroom suddenly understood one thing.
Ronan had seen enough.
“Give me the crop, Vivienne.”
His voice was quiet.
She tried to pull it from his grip.
“Ronan, darling, you don’t understand. This woman—”
“The crop.”
For an instant, she looked ready to argue.
Then her fingers loosened.
Ronan took the riding crop and placed it on the nearest table, beyond her reach.
He turned toward the two armed security guards standing beside the entrance.
“Mr. Ellis, call for medical assistance. Then ask the event manager to contact the police.”
Vivienne laughed sharply.
“The police? Over a servant?”
Ronan looked at her.
