Everyone turned to look, the room falling into an awkward silence, whispers bouncing off the walls like ricocheting bullets. The man’s anger was palpable, electrifying the air. He stormed toward us, eyes blazing as they locked onto Trina.

Trina’s smirk evaporated, replaced by a mask of confusion and alarm. “Jonathan?” she stammered, stepping back, her bravado faltering.

“Don’t ‘Jonathan’ me!” he barked, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife. “I just got off the phone with the bank. You took $200,000, Trina! And that bag you’ve been flaunting around? It’s fake!”

The words hung in the air, heavy, explosive. Gasps rippled across the room. Trina’s face paled, her composure crumbling. She stumbled, reaching for support but finding none.

“I didn’t—” she started, but Jonathan cut her off, stepping closer, eyes narrowing.

“Enough of your lies,” he hissed. “You’ve embarrassed me enough tonight. Do you think I wouldn’t find out? That I wouldn’t notice the money missing?”

The crowd, initially still and silent, began to murmur, the tide of attention turning. Trina, once the queen bee who never faced consequences, was now caught in the glare of her own spotlight, and it was scorching.

Desperation crept into her voice as she tried to regain control, but the room was slipping from her grasp. “Jonathan, please,” she pleaded, her voice a thin thread.