Paul Harrison ascended the marble steps of his mansion in Beverly Hills, anticipating the long-awaited reunion with his beloved wife. In his hands, he held a bouquet of red roses, Sophia’s favorite flowers. Today marked exactly five years since he first saw her in an art gallery and lost his head over her beauty.

Back then, she seemed to him like a muse, the embodiment of femininity and refinement. Long chestnut hair cascaded over her shoulders, and brown eyes radiated such depth that Paul was ready to drown in them forever. He pursued her for a full six months, showering her with expensive gifts, inviting her to the best restaurants, organizing romantic trips around the world.

Sophia resisted for a long time, as if testing the seriousness of his intentions. She came from a good family, but her not-wealthy father worked as a doctor, her mother taught at a university. They lived modestly but decently.

Sophia had dreamed since childhood of a different life—luxurious, vibrant, full of admiring glances. In her youth, she participated in local beauty pageants, but never advanced beyond third place. This painfully wounded her pride.

She saw girls less beautiful than her, but luckier, and couldn’t understand the reason for her failures. When Paul began courting her, Sophia initially didn’t take him seriously. He was eight years older, already a successful businessman, but he looked too proper, too decent.

Not the type of men who usually caught her attention, but gradually she appreciated his qualities. Paul was not just rich; he was smart, gallant, attentive. He listened to her dreams and didn’t laugh at them.

Moreover, he promised to help make them come true. «You could become an international model,» he said. «You have all the necessary beauty, grace, charisma.»

«But I’m not that young anymore to start a modeling career,» Sophia replied. «I’m 24. In our time, that’s no obstacle.

The main thing is desire and the right support.» It was precisely these conversations that tipped the scales. Sophia realized that Paul could give her the life she dreamed of.

Not just luxury, but opportunities for self-realization. Their wedding became the event of the year in high society. Paul spared no expense, renting a historic mansion, hiring the best florists, ordering a dress from a famous designer.

Sophia was the center of attention, just as she had dreamed her whole life. The first two years of marriage were happy. Paul helped Sophia build a career in the modeling business.

He hired the best photographers, arranged several photoshoots for glossy magazines, even organized participation in a few fashion shows. But success didn’t come. Sophia got small gigs, but there was no talk of a serious career.

Agents politely refused, explaining that there were no suitable projects at the moment. In reality, the reason was simpler: Sophia, for all her beauty, lacked that special charisma needed for success in the modeling business. Gradually, the dream turned into disappointment, and disappointment into bitterness.

Sophia began blaming everyone around her for the failures. Photographers who couldn’t capture her beauty, agents who didn’t understand her potential, and even Paul, who, in her opinion, wasn’t trying hard enough. «You could buy a modeling agency,» she said.

«Then everything would be different.» «Sophia, success can’t be bought,» Paul replied. «It has to be earned.»

«Easy to say when you already have everything.» These conversations became more frequent and aggressive. Sophia felt like a failure, and it ate away at her from the inside.

She began suspecting that Paul secretly laughed at her failures, though he never gave any reason for it. And then Brandon Cole appeared in their lives. Paul had met Brandon back in college, and they quickly became best friends.

Brandon was the complete opposite of Paul: impulsive, charismatic, a bit frivolous. He knew how to have fun and make others do the same. After college, their paths diverged.

Paul built his business, while Brandon tried himself in various fields, opening a restaurant, launching a startup, attempting to become a music producer. Nothing worked out, but Brandon didn’t despair. When Paul got married, he invited Brandon to be the best man.

He enthusiastically agreed and made a real splash at the wedding; his toast was the wittiest and most touching at the same time. «Paul was always the smartest of us,» Brandon said, raising his glass. «But today he proved he’s also the luckiest.

Sophia, you’re beautiful as a goddess!» Sophia blossomed from his compliments. Brandon knew how to talk to women, how to charm them. Unlike Paul, who was gallant but reserved, Brandon was expressive and emotional.

After the wedding, Brandon became a frequent guest in the Harrison home. Paul was glad to see his old friend, and Sophia… Sophia began looking at Brandon in a special way. He understood her disappointment, sympathized with her failures in the modeling business.

Moreover, he suggested alternatives. «You could take up acting,» he said. «Or become a TV host.»

«You have great qualities.» «But Paul says that’s not serious.» «Paul is too conservative.

He doesn’t understand creative natures.» Gradually, an emotional connection formed between Sophia and Brandon. At first, they just talked a lot about life, dreams, disappointments.

Then secret meetings in cafes began, long walks when Paul was on business trips. Sophia felt alive and significant next to Brandon. He admired her, idolized her beauty, supported her ambitions.

And most importantly, he understood her disappointment from her failed career. «You’re too good for this world,» he said. «They don’t deserve you.»

A year ago, their relationship moved to a new level. Sophia could no longer resist. Brandon gave her what was missing in her marriage to Paul.

Passion, understanding, a sense of her own importance. But secret dates stopped satisfying Sophia. She wanted more, wanted to be with Brandon officially.

And for that, she needed to get rid of Paul. At first, she thought about divorce, but realized she would lose everything. The prenup was drawn up competently; in case of her infidelity, she got nothing.

And Sophia could no longer live without money. Then Brandon suggested another solution. «Accidents happen all the time,» he said one day.

«Especially with people who work a lot, travel the world often, and don’t watch their health.» Sophia was initially horrified by this proposal. But gradually, the idea took root in her mind.

Paul really worked a lot, often complained of fatigue. If he died of a heart attack, no one would suspect anything. Brandon got the necessary drugs through his acquaintances in a pharmaceutical company.

Small doses of poison that gradually weakened the heart but didn’t raise suspicions. For two weeks, Sophia added the poison to her husband’s evening tea. Paul indeed started feeling worse but attributed it to stress.

Another month, and it would all be over. But today, Paul returned earlier than expected. Ascending the stairs to the bedroom, he heard voices.

Sophia was talking to someone, and that voice seemed familiar to Paul. He slowed his steps, listening. Just a few more weeks, and it’ll all be over, a male voice sounded behind the bedroom door.

«Are you sure no one will suspect anything?» «Of course,» Sophia replied with cold confidence. Paul has no idea. He thinks he’s feeling bad because of work stress.

But still, Paul froze in place. That voice. Brandon? His best friend? And if the doctors find something during the autopsy? The male voice continued.

They won’t. This drug completely dissolves and leaves no traces. A heart attack in a 40-year-old workaholic is a perfectly natural death.

Paul’s heart pounded so loudly that he feared they would hear it. He cautiously approached the slightly open door and peeked inside. What he saw shattered his world into a thousand pieces.

On their marital bed, among silk sheets, lay his wife in the arms of Brandon Cole, his best friend from college days, the best man at their wedding, the person Paul trusted more than anyone in the world. «How much longer do I need to add the poison to his tea?» Sophia asked, gently stroking Brandon’s shoulder. — Maximum a month, he replied.

The heart is already weakened. What about the inheritance? Everything will go to me. The will was drawn up long ago, we have no children.

In six months, after his death, we can get married and enjoy his millions. Brandon laughed. Poor Paul.

So smart in business and so naive in personal life. Doesn’t even suspect that his beloved wife is slowly killing him. He’s too trusting, agreed Sophia.

That’s why he’s so easy to deceive. The bouquet fell from Paul’s hands and hit the floor with a dull thud. The sound echoed through the corridor.

What was that? Brandon worried. Probably the cat knocked something over, Sophia replied carelessly. But Paul could no longer control himself.

The door swung open forcefully, and he burst into the bedroom. — Paul! — Sophia screamed, sharply pulling away from her lover and grabbing the sheet. — You were supposed to return only tomorrow.

Brandon slowly rose from the bed, and there was not a drop of shame on his face, only a brazen smirk. — Oh, hi, old man! — he said with mocking ease. — How untimely you appeared! — We were just discussing your.

Future. Paul stood, unable to utter a word. Fragments of memories flashed in his head: how Brandon was the witness at their wedding, how they spent joint vacations, how Paul shared with him his most intimate thoughts about marriage and future plans.

And all this time. I heard everything. — And how long? — He finally squeezed out in a hoarse voice.

— What exactly interests you? — Brandon asked with cold audacity. — How long we’ve been sleeping together, or how long we’ve been poisoning you? — Brandon, shut up! — Sophia hissed, but he continued. — Our affair has been about a year.

— And we’ve been adding the poison for just two weeks. — Too bad you ruined everything by coming back early. The world around Paul darkened.

— So, his malaise these last days isn’t stress, but the result of slow poisoning. — You wanted to kill me, he whispered. — Wanted.

— Brandon laughed, getting up from the bed. — We still want to. — Just now we’ll have to act faster and… — More radically.

Paul saw Brandon reach for the nightstand, where lay a pistol, a gift from his father for his coming of age. The gleam of metal in the traitor’s hands made Paul’s instincts kick in instantly. He sharply turned and rushed to the door.

— Stop! — Brandon shouted, grabbing the weapon. Paul dashed out of the bedroom and raced down the corridor. A deafening shot rang out behind him.

The bullet whistled past his head and hit an antique painting on the wall, leaving a smoking hole in the canvas. — You won’t get away! — Brandon yelled, running out of the bedroom. — You know too much.

Paul ran down the corridor, with shots thundering behind him. The second bullet shattered a mirror, the third—a crystal vase on the dresser. Shards tinkled underfoot.

He burst into the nearest room. It turned out to be a guest bathroom. He slammed the door and turned the key just as Brandon reached the door.

— Open up. He pounded furiously on the door with his fists. — You’ll never get out of here anyway.

With trembling hands, Paul grabbed his mobile phone and dialed the security service number. — Come immediately. He shouted into the receiver, trying to drown out the pounding on the door.

— Armed killers in my house. They’re trying to shoot me. — Mr. Harrison? The operator asked.

— We’re on our way. — Hold on. I hear you’re calling security.

Brandon shouted. But we’ll finish the job before they arrive. The door shook under the blows.

Brandon was apparently trying to kick it down. — Sophia! — he yelled. — Get the axe from the storage room…

Paul realized time was running out. He looked around; the small window was too narrow to climb through. All that was left was to wait and pray that security arrived faster.

The blows grew stronger. The door began to crack. Finally, after 15 minutes that seemed like eternity, voices of security guards and the stomp of many feet echoed in the house.

— Police! — Drop your weapon. The pounding on the door stopped. Paul heard commotion, shouts, slamming doors.

When he finally dared to leave the bathroom, the house was full of uniformed people. But Sophia and Brandon were nowhere to be found. They escaped through the back door, reported the team commander.

— But we’ll find them. — We have their descriptions, and all city exits are already blocked. Paul showed the police the broken items, bullet holes in the walls and paintings.

In the bedroom, they found a vial of poison that the criminals had forgotten in their haste. — This is attempted murder with aggravating circumstances, said the policeman. — We’ll definitely catch them.

But when the police and security left, Paul remained alone in the empty house amid scattered roses and shards of his shattered past. Five years of life given to a woman who was slowly killing him. Betrayal by his best friend, who was ready to shoot him like a dog.

That same night, sitting in his office and staring at the bullet hole in the wall, Paul made a decision. He wouldn’t just seek their punishment through the courts. He would make them regret the day they decided to betray him.

 

The revenge would be sophisticated and merciless. But most importantly—it would be just. The next morning, Paul looked like a man who had survived a catastrophe.

Having not slept all night, he sat in his office, surrounded by documents and photographs that he once kept as precious memories but now saw as evidence of his own naivety. On the table lay the marriage certificate, joint vacation photos, gifts that Sophia had given him on birthdays. All of it now seemed fake, contrived.

How could he have been so blind? His thoughts were interrupted by a doorbell. His lawyer, Michael Turner, an experienced attorney who had handled Paul’s company affairs for many years, arrived. He was a man in his 50s, with a piercing gaze and a reputation for never losing complex cases.

«Paul, I came as soon as I heard,» Turner said, entering the office. «This is terrible. I never thought Sophia was capable of this.

I didn’t think so either,» Paul replied bitterly. «Apparently, I don’t understand people well. Don’t blame yourself.»

 

They played their roles skillfully. Turner sat in the chair opposite. «I’ve already reviewed the case materials.

We have solid evidence. The poison, security testimonies, surveillance camera recordings that captured their escape.» Sophia and Brandon won’t escape responsibility.

How much will they get? Paul asked, not looking away from the window, for attempted murder with mercenary motives, 10 to 20 years. Considering the victim is the accused’s husband, and the crime was planned in advance, we can expect the maximum term. 20 years, Paul repeated.

And what? They’ll serve, get out, and continue living. Paul, I understand your feelings, but the law is the law. The main thing is they’ll be punished for their crimes.

Paul turned to the lawyer. In his eyes was a cold determination that made Turner involuntarily tense. «Michael, I want you to do everything possible for their search and arrest.

Hire the best private detectives, use all connections. But in parallel, I have other plans.» What plans? «Carefully,» asked the lawyer.

«Paul, don’t tell me you’re planning to take revenge yourself. That could backfire on you.» «Nothing illegal,» Paul assured.

«Just I’ll show them what real pain from betrayal is. They wanted my money and my status.» «Perfect.

I’ll deprive them of exactly that.» Turner frowned but didn’t press for details. He knew his client well enough to understand.

When Paul decided something, convincing him otherwise was impossible. «Alright,» he said, standing up. «But be careful.

Revenge is a double-edged sword.» That same day, as if by fate, he received an unexpected phone call. «Mr. Harrison?» «This is Victoria Larson, organizer of the international beauty contest ‘Queen of Elegance’.»

«We’d like to invite you as an honorary jury member.» Paul wasn’t surprised, as he had been one of the sponsors of the event for the third year. It was a prestigious show held annually in one of the major American cities.

«This year the contest is set to take place in Las Vegas. Sorry, but why me specifically?» he asked. «Your company ‘Harrison Group’ is one of the main sponsors of the event,» Victoria explained.

«Besides, you’re known as a connoisseur of art and beauty. Your opinion will be very authoritative for the participants.» «When does the contest take place?» «In 10 days.»

«Monday – arrival of participants and rehearsals, Tuesday – opening ceremony, Wednesday and Thursday – main challenges, Friday – final and awarding.» Paul pondered. A beauty contest.

Sophia always painfully envied girls who participated in such events. She considered herself worthy of the grand prize but never got it. And what if? The idea was bold, almost insane.

But the more he thought about it, the more appealing it seemed. «I agree,» he said. «Send me all the necessary documents and the event program.»

«Excellent.» Victoria was delighted. «We’ll book a room for you at the ‘Grand Las Vegas’ hotel.

See you at the opening ceremony.» After the conversation, Paul felt a strange premonition stirring in his chest. As if fate itself was hinting at the path to revenge.

He spent the rest of the day pondering the plan. The idea was bold but ingenious in its simplicity. Sophia had always dreamed of recognition in the world of beauty and never received it.

And what if someone else got what she so desired? What if a simple girl without connections and money became what Sophia dreamed of becoming? But to implement this plan, he needed to find a suitable candidate. A girl who was beautiful but unaware of it. Talented but deprived of opportunities.

Someone who could become a living reproach to Sophia’s ambitions. That evening, Paul packed a suitcase and booked a plane ticket to Las Vegas. In a week, he was to be at the center of the world of fashion and beauty.

But the main purpose of the trip was not at all to choose the most beautiful girl. Paul was going there to begin his revenge. Revenge that was to become not destruction, but creation.

He would show Sophia that one can rise to the stars without trampling others. The plane landed at Las Vegas airport on Sunday morning. A driver with a sign «Mr.

Harrison» waited for him in the arrivals hall. The drive to the hotel took about an hour; Paul silently looked out the window at the passing Nevada landscapes. But his thoughts were focused on the upcoming events.

He still didn’t know exactly how he would act. The plan was general: find a girl who could become his instrument of revenge. But how exactly it would happen, time would tell.

The ‘Grand Las Vegas’ hotel greeted him with a luxurious neoclassical interior and impeccable service. Marble columns, crystal chandeliers, antique furniture—all exuded wealth and taste. In the spacious lobby, participants of the upcoming contest were already gathering: elegantly dressed girls with model looks, their trainers and stylists, press representatives, organizers.

Paul observed this colorful crowd and thought that somewhere among these people might be the key to his revenge. The participants were truly beautiful: tall, slender, with flawless faces and confident manners. But in their beauty, there was something uniform, templated.

As if they were created from a single mold. «Welcome to Las Vegas, Mr. Harrison.» A middle-aged woman with impeccable hair and a strict business suit approached him.

«I’m Victoria Larson; we spoke on the phone.» «Very pleased to meet you in person,» Paul replied, shaking her extended hand. Victoria was a professional of the highest level.

She had been organizing such events for over 15 years and knew how to create an atmosphere of a real celebration. In her eyes were experience, energy, and sincere love for her work. «Allow me to escort you to your room, and then introduce you to the other jury members,» she offered.

«Tomorrow morning we have a technical rehearsal and acquaintance with the participants; in the evening, the grand opening ceremony.» They went up the elevator to the top floor. The room turned out to be a presidential suite with a panoramic view of the Las Vegas Strip.

From the windows opened a view of the famous Bellagio fountains and the Caesars Palace. «The contest program is on the table,» Victoria informed. «We expect you in the conference hall at 8 a.m. for the jury briefing.

In the meantime, settle in, rest from the trip. If you need anything, call the reception.» Left alone, Paul took a shower and tried to sleep a bit after the early flight, but sleep wouldn’t come.

His mind swirled with thoughts of the upcoming revenge, of Sophia and Brandon hiding somewhere from justice, of the plan that was just beginning to form in his consciousness. In the evening, he decided to stroll through the hotel, study the surroundings, observe the participants and organizers. In the main restaurant, an informal dinner was taking place; girls were getting to know each other, journalists were taking interviews, organizing committee members were resolving last questions.

Paul ordered dinner at a separate table and watched what was happening. The participants were from different countries; he heard French, German, Spanish speech. Most girls looked confident, accustomed to attention.

This was the typical crowd of golden youth, Paul thought bitterly. Exactly the environment Sophia always wanted to be in…

Exactly this life she envied, flipping through glossy magazines. After finishing dinner, he decided to walk around the hotel. He went up to the second floor, where the conference halls were, peeked into the gym and pool.

Then, following the signs, he headed to the service areas; he was interested in how the technical side of such an event was arranged. It was then, turning into a service corridor, that he heard quiet female sobbing. The sound came from behind a slightly open door of the staff room.

Paul stopped, hesitating whether to interfere in someone else’s grief. But something in that cry touched him: it contained not just sadness, but real despair, the pain of a person who had reached the limit of their strength. He cautiously peeked into the room and saw a girl sitting on a bench by the wall.

She was dressed in a cleaner’s uniform: simple dark pants and a white shirt with the hotel logo. Long blonde hair was gathered in a practical ponytail, and her face had no makeup. But even in such a simple appearance, she was strikingly beautiful—not the polished, magazine beauty that the contest participants boasted, but natural, alive, real.

High cheekbones, perfect facial oval, graceful neck line. And those eyes: gray-blue, like the northern sea, full of pain and fatigue, but retaining some special depth. In her appearance was something aristocratic, pedigreed.

Despite the simple clothes and modest hairstyle, she looked like a princess disguised as a maid in an old fairy tale. «Excuse me,» Paul said, quietly entering the room. «Are you alright?»

The girl flinched in surprise and quickly wiped her tears with the back of her hand. In her movements was a grace that no costume could hide. «Sorry, I didn’t know anyone was here,» she replied, hastily standing from the bench.

«I’ll leave now, won’t bother you.» Her voice was melodic, with a slight regional accent, but well-set. Paul immediately understood that this girl had received a good education.

«Don’t leave, please,» he asked. «I’m just worried; what happened?»

«Perhaps I can help somehow?» The girl looked at him attentively, assessing the expensive suit, confident demeanor, aristocratic facial features.

It was clear she was trying to figure out who he was and if he could be trusted. «You’re probably one of the hotel guests,» she said cautiously. «I don’t think my problems would interest you.»

«It’s just… work troubles. Try telling me,» Paul gently insisted. Sometimes it helps to talk to a stranger.

«My name is Paul. Hannah,» she replied quietly after a brief hesitation. Hannah Clarke.

Paul sat on a chair opposite the bench, trying not to invade her space but showing he was ready to listen. Something about this girl drew him in—perhaps the sincerity he hadn’t seen in a long time, or that natural grace independent of clothes and makeup. «Tell me what happened,» he asked.

Hannah hesitated a few more seconds, but then, as if unable to hold back the accumulated pain any longer, began to speak. «I’ve been working here as a cleaner for half a year. I came from a small town, trying to save money to…» She faltered, as if unsure whether to continue.

«Doesn’t matter for what. Usually I work on other floors, but today they asked me to replace a sick colleague and clean in the dressing rooms where the contest participants are preparing. And what happened there? They didn’t notice me, chatted among themselves as usual,» Hannah continued, looking at the floor.

Discussing who among them is prettier, who will get more points from the jury, what dresses they ordered for the final. And then one of them, a tall blonde with a German accent, noticed me and said, «Look at this frump.» Wonder if she even understands what real beauty is? Paul felt a familiar anger boiling in his chest.

He knew this type of people too well, those who consider themselves superior just because of external circumstances. «Continue,» he asked, trying to keep a calm tone. They started laughing and discussing me as if I were an inanimate object.

Hannah’s voice trembled. They said that instead of a model’s elegant walk, I have a cleaner’s walk with a mop. That people like me belong only in utility rooms and bathrooms, not among beautiful and successful people.

«And that German added, and instead of a pole, you have a mop, right?» And they just rolled with laughter, as if they said something incredibly witty. Hannah sniffled, trying to hold back a new wave of tears. «You know, I’m used to people sometimes looking down on me.

In my position, it’s inevitable. But today it was especially painful. I’m going through a very tough period in life right now.»

And these words were the last straw. «Tell me about your tough period,» Paul gently asked. «If it’s not hard, of course.»

Hannah raised her eyes to him, as if assessing if she could open up to him. In that gaze, Paul saw not only pain but also intelligence and strength of character that helped her hold on despite everything. «It’s a long and not very cheerful story,» she warned.

«I have time. I’ve always dreamed of becoming an actress,» Hannah began, her voice becoming more confident. From childhood, I participated in school plays, attended drama club.

My parents, both teachers, initially didn’t approve of my choice much, but then saw I had talent and supported me. She paused a bit, gathering her thoughts. «After high school, I entered a theater institute in New York.

It was my dream—to study with the best teachers, perform on a real stage. The first two years were wonderful. I studied well, got lead roles in student productions, teachers praised my potential.

What went wrong? In the third year, a group of students from very wealthy families formed in our institute. Their parents were famous actors, producers, politicians. These kids were used to everything coming easy to them: best roles, teachers’ attention, job prospects.

Paul began to understand where this story was leading, and his face darkened. They didn’t want some simple girl from a small town competing with them, Hannah continued. That I was getting lead roles in important productions, that directors were holding me up as an example to other students.

At first, it was just snide remarks, petty pranks. But then her voice trembled again. Then they decided to get rid of me radically.

They set it up very cleverly. One of the teachers lost expensive jewelry—a family heirloom, very valuable. And those jewels were ‘accidentally’ found in my bag during a search in the dorm.

«Oh my God!» Paul whispered. — They planted them on you? — Of course. But proving it was impossible.

They had perfect alibis, witnesses from their circle who confirmed any version. And I had only the truth, which no one wanted to hear. Hannah wiped her tears and continued in a firmer voice.

I was expelled from the institute in the third year. My reputation was ruined; rumors of the theft spread instantly. No other theater school wanted to accept me anymore.

I had to return home in shame. «And you didn’t try to fight? Go to court, to journalists?» — I tried, Hannah smiled bitterly. But they had money, connections, influential parents.

Who would believe a provincial teachers’ daughter against the children of the elite? My lawyer, who worked practically for free, said honestly, we have no chance. Better not waste the last money. Paul listened to this story and felt not only sympathy growing in his chest but something else.

Recognition. This girl had experienced betrayal, injustice, the collapse of dreams—all the same things he had recently gone through himself. «What happened next?» — he asked.

My parents were in despair. They were so proud that their daughter was studying at a prestigious institute, building an acting career. And here such shame.

Dad even got sick from the stress; he had a heart attack. Hannah’s voice became even quieter. When Dad was in the hospital, the doctors said he needed an expensive operation.

Our family always lived modestly; teachers’ salaries, you know, aren’t very big. There were no savings. And I realized I had to help.

That’s why you came here to work. Yes. In Las Vegas, salaries are higher than back home, even for cleaners.

I got a job at this hotel, rent a small room, send almost all the money home. Dad already had the operation; he’s recovering, but still needs medications, rehabilitation. Hannah fell silent, and silence hung in the room.

Paul pondered what he heard. Before him sat a girl with a tragic story very similar to his own. Talented, beautiful, but broken by injustice and betrayal.

And suddenly, an amazing plan began to form in his head. Hannah, he said slowly, have you ever dreamed of participating in a beauty contest? She looked at him in surprise, as if not understanding why he was asking such a strange question. What? Of course not.

I’m not a model. And besides, I have completely different problems now. And if you had such an opportunity? Theoretically, not understanding where he was leading, Hannah frowned.

It’s unrealistic. Such contests are for rich girls with connections and sponsors, not for people like me. Paul stood and approached the small window, from which the service yard of the hotel was visible. Beyond the glass flashed the lights of nighttime Las Vegas—the city where the fates of many ambitious people were decided, where dreams could become reality or shatter to pieces.

Hannah, he said, turning to her, And what if I tell you I can give you a chance? A chance not just to participate in a beauty contest, but to show all these arrogant beauties what real talent and real beauty are. You’re joking, she replied distrustfully. I never joke about serious things, Paul said firmly..

I’m a jury member of the Queen of Elegance contest starting tomorrow. I have influence, connections, money. And most importantly, tomorrow morning one of the participants, Karina Weber from Switzerland, has to fly home due to a family tragedy.

Her spot is freeing up. Hannah looked at him with wide eyes, unable to believe what she heard. But even if that’s true, she whispered, why would you help me? We’re complete strangers.

What do you get out of it? Paul pondered for a moment. He couldn’t tell her the whole truth about his motives, about his wife’s betrayal, about the desire for revenge, about how at first she was just a tool of retribution for him. But he could share part of the truth.

I have my reasons, he said cautiously. Let’s say I want to teach a lesson to some arrogant people. Show them that true beauty, talent, and dignity don’t depend on origin or money in the bank account.