Plan B

Rebecca

I never imagined an apology could feel so terrifying—especially not to Chris. But here I am, snaking through a pack of gilded guests, hoping to reach him before he takes a sip from that champagne flute. My pulse hasn't settled since I spotted the server dumping a suspicious vial into Chris's half-finished drink. And I know, somehow, Caroline is behind it. God, her audacity leaves me breathless.

At last, I find Chris standing near a tall display of tropical flowers, swirling the spiked drink absently. When he notices me, his eyes narrow with a flash of surprise, maybe even wariness. That hurts more than I care to admit, but I push through.

"Hey," I say, forcing a tremulous smile. "Listen, I— I came over to apologize."

His expression remains neutral, maybe a tad cold. "Apologize?" he echoes, as if skeptical of my motives.