“You’re not coming near her,” Karter snapped as the doors swung open.
Gasps rolled through the Persson-Mitchell Gala like a physical thing. Crystal chandeliers trembled. Cameras pivoted. Conversations stalled.
“Excuse me?” Coraline—my hands, my dress, my lungs—felt like someone had shoved ice down my throat.
“Karter, darling, control yourself,” Evelyn said, stepping forward with a smile that was entirely business. “This is a family evening.”
“This is not family business,” Karter said. He looked at me the way a verdict looks at someone waiting to be sentenced. “This is humiliation in front of our partners.”
“Humiliation?” Helena Mitchell’s voice cut in. She was a sculpture in a gown. “What are you implying about my daughter?”
“You know exactly what I’m implying.” Karter spread his hands like he was offering the room proof. “Public leaks, planted stories, PR hits timed for maximum damage. Every time Persson stock dips, someone tweets a rumor about my fiancée. That stops tonight.”
“Are you accusing Coraline of leaking?” Evelyn’s voice was sharp now.
“Yes.” Karter didn’t hesitate. “I am. And I am done pretending.”
A flashbulb went off close enough to sting. Someone in the crowd made a sound that was either a laugh or a sob.
“Don’t be dramatic.” My mouth moved and my voice came out with that practiced Coraline cadence—meant to hurt, to charm, to dominate. I wanted to crawl out of my skin.
“You’ll leave me no choice,” Karter
