The ballroom went silent.
Vanessa’s voice trembled.
“Let go of me.”
Naomi didn’t.
She just whispered, “Did you hear what I said?”
Vanessa had no idea who she had just kicked.
But she was about to find out.
Naomi released Vanessa’s ankle.
Vanessa stumbled backward, catching herself on a champagne table. Glasses toppled. Champagne spread across the white silk like a stain that could never be removed. Her face was flushed. Her eyes were wild.
“You’re fired,” she hissed. “You’re done. You’ll never work in this city again.”
Naomi straightened her uniform. She didn’t look at Vanessa. She looked at the crowd. Three hundred faces. Some amused. Some horrified. Most uncertain.
Then she looked at Ethan.
He was standing near the orchestra, a glass of champagne frozen halfway to his lips. His face was pale. His eyes were fixed on Naomi.
“Ethan,” Vanessa said. Her voice cracked. “Do something. She attacked me.”
Ethan didn’t move.
“Ethan!”
He set down his glass. He walked toward them. Slowly. Deliberately. He stopped beside Naomi.
“Vanessa,” he said quietly. “I saw what happened.”
Vanessa’s face went white. “What?”
“I saw you kick her. Everyone saw you kick her.”
“She’s a maid,” Vanessa spat. “She’s nothing. She’s—”
“She’s the woman who saved my sister’s life,” Ethan said.
The ballroom went even quieter. If that was possible.
Vanessa blinked. “What?”
Ethan looked at Naomi. His eyes were soft. “Tell them.”
Naomi shook her head. “Ethan, don’t.”
“Tell them.”
Naomi took a breath. She looked at the crowd. She looked at Vanessa. She looked at the cameras still rolling.
“Three years ago,” she said, “I was working private protection. I was assigned to a family in Philadelphia. The father was a witness in a federal trial. The mother was dead. The daughter was seventeen.”
She paused. Her hands were steady. Her voice was calm.
