They laughed at a plus-size seamstress when her stepsister ripped the only dress her late mother had left her—

The applause was still ringing through the pavilion when the house lights were suddenly brought up to full brightness.

The music cut abruptly.

Through the side doors of the auditorium marched eight uniformed police officers, led by two federal investigators with badges displayed on their lapels, accompanied by Arthur Vance.

The crowd began to murmur in confusion as the officers walked directly toward the front-row VIP box where Victoria and Blair Kincaid were attempting to slip out through the private corridor.

"Victoria Kincaid? Blair Kincaid?" the lead detective called out over the murmur of the crowd.

Victoria spun around, clutching her mink coat tightly around her shoulders. "What is the meaning of this?! How dare you interrupt this event!"

Arthur Vance stepped forward, holding up a thick stack of certified legal documents.

"Victoria Kincaid, you are under arrest for grand larceny, interstate wire fraud, tax evasion, and the forgery of the last will and testament of Charles Kincaid," Arthur announced, his voice carrying clearly to the front-row journalists who immediately aimed their cameras at the scene.

Blair began to shriek. "Mother! What did you do?!"

"Quiet!" Victoria hissed, her face turning purple. "This is a civil matter! My husband left this company to me!"

"Your husband left the company to his daughter, Hattie," Arthur countered, handing a document to the detective. "We have the original Swiss trust filings, verified by forensic handwriting analysis. Furthermore, federal agents raided Dario Moretti’s docks three hours ago. Moretti’s lieutenant has fully confessed to the arson attempt on the Arts District studio—and stated under sworn oath that you paid fifty thousand dollars from Maison Kincaid’s operating accounts to fund the hit."

Glares of horror and disgust rippled through the assembled elite.

"That's a lie!" Blair sobbed, retreating into the velvet curtains. "Hattie did this! She set us up! She's jealous because she's fat and nobody wanted her!"

The lead detective stepped forward, snapping a pair of cold steel handcuffs around Blair’s wrists with a harsh, metallic click. Another officer did the same to Victoria, despite her thrashing and cursing.

"Save it for the judge, Miss Kincaid," the detective said bluntly. "You have the right to remain silent."

As Victoria and Blair were marched down the main aisle in handcuffs, flanked by police, they had to walk directly past the foot of the runway.

Hattie stood above them, resplendent in her midnight-blue silk, the silver swallows on her train catching the brilliant halogen lights.

Victoria looked up at her, her eyes burning with pure, unadulterated hatred. "You think you won, Hattie? You think that mafia butcher actually loves you? He’s using you to clean his dirty money! You’ll always be the ugly little girl crying in the corner!"

Ennio stepped up onto the lower stair of the runway, placing himself between Victoria and Hattie. He looked down at the disgraced socialite with eyes colder than a frozen grave.

"Take them away," Ennio commanded the officers softly. "The air is foul enough."

As the doors closed behind the screaming Kincaid women, the pavilion fell into a brief, stunned silence.

Then, Jean-Paul Laurent raised his champagne glass toward the stage.

"To the true queen of couture!" he shouted. "To Hattie Vance!"