After a tense, heavy silence, Erica's eyes flared with humiliation. She raised her manicured hand to violently return the favor, but Evelyn intercepted her wrist mid-air, locking it in a vice grip.
"Miss Jones, what standard of qualification do you honestly think you possess to lay a hand on me?" Evelyn hissed, her voice dropping into a chilling, calculated whisper. "Furthermore, let me make one thing abundantly clear: I am officially making my absolute decision on this man, Michael! So what if he is currently engaged to you? Even if you two manage to march all the way to the altar, a relationship can be completely dismantled, and I have no problem turning your wedding into a complete farce."
Erica forcefully yanked her wrist back, smoothing down her designer attire as she looked at Evelyn with a mask of pure, aristocratic pride. "Ha ha, who do you honestly think you are, Evelyn Sin? However, since you are so bold, I will personally welcome you to attend our high-society wedding."
