He didn’t raise his voice.

Victoria looked at him for three seconds without moving her shoulders.

“This is utterly ridiculous,” she said quietly.

When the agent beside Michael reached for her wrist, her fingers went slack.

The crystal champagne flute slid out of her hand and struck the red brick porch, breaking into small, sharp pieces that skittered across the entryway.

The pale liquid puddled around the tips of her polished shoes.

She didn’t glance down at the broken glass.