Clara approached cautiously, tray in hand.

“Your champagne, ma’am,” she said softly.

Vivienne looked up slowly, her expression dripping with entitlement. As Clara placed the glass on the table, a tiny splash — barely a drop — landed near Vivienne’s towel.

The group gasped dramatically.

Vivienne’s eyes narrowed like claws closing around prey.

“Oh look,” she said loudly, making sure the entire pool deck could hear.
“The maid is trying to wash my clothes for me. How generous.”

A ripple of cruel laughter followed. Clara felt her face burn.

“I’m so sorry—” she began.