Jamila lifted the hem of her pink gown and strode toward Fiorella.

Suddenly, she threw herself into Fiorella’s arms like they were the closest. Then she linked arms with her, giggling. “Fiorella, what are you guys talking about?”

Jamila bent just enough to show a bit of her cleavage.

With her sweet smile, she acted like she was casually joining the conversation.

But Cameron frowned at it.

Jamila acted like she had just noticed and turned to Fiorella with a pout. “Oh no! I didn’t interrupt, did I? You don’t mind, right?”

Her wide, innocent eyes made it look like she was asking for a favor.

Judging by how careful Fiorella had been earlier, Jamila knew she wouldn’t refuse.

Jamila was set on stealing the moment. Fiorella saw right through her.

Fiorella might have helped if it were someone else, but Cameron was dangerous. She couldn’t risk letting Jamila upset him.

“I don’t mind.”

Jamila’s eyes lit up until Fiorella kept going.

“But Jamila, you’re supposed to act like a lady. Jumping into a conversation like this? That’s not polite. You’ve had way more training in manners than I have. No way you’d forget something that basic.”

Jamila was fuming at her words.

“Who the hell does this ugly bitch think she is, lecturing her on manners?” she cursed inwardly.

She wanted to snap, but with Cameron standing right there, she had to keep her cool.

Then she stuck out her tongue playfully.

“Oh, I know my manners. I’m just excited you’re finally home. I got a little carried away. Didn’t think you’d be so strict about this. Since when did you become the etiquette police?”

Jamila’s sarcasm was clear—Fiorella was putting on an act.

Fiorella sighed but stayed composed. “I know I don’t get to lecture you, but Mr. Finley is an important guest.” Then she turned to Cameron and said, “Apologies, Mr. Finley. My sister can be a bit forward sometimes.”

She lowered her head, looking genuinely sorry.

She had meant to teach Jamila a lesson, but more than that, she needed to make sure Cameron wasn’t upset. The last thing she wanted was to give him any reason to resent her family and crush them like last time.

“It’s okay. Let’s talk over there,” he said.

Cameron moved, gesturing toward the exhibit stand.

Fiorella hesitated, thinking, “We just met. Do we have more to talk about?”

But refusing wasn’t an option. She pushed Jamila’s hand off and followed Cameron.

Jamila watched, anger burning in her eyes.

“Damn Fiorella. She’s barely part of the family, and she’s already trying to one-up me over a guy.

“And worse? She’s winning,” she muttered, biting her lip.

She swore she would get rid of Fiorella no matter what it took.

“Miss, your drink.” A waiter approached, balancing a tray of glasses.

Jamila’s gaze flicked to them. She thought back to nights out with her friends and the bottle she had been handed before.

Without hesitation, she picked up a cocktail and casually tipped in a small dose.

“Give this to my sister. Tell her it’s from our mother.”

“Yes,” the waiter replied.

Jamila didn’t know exactly what the drug would do. But as long as Fiorella drank it, she would embarrass herself in front of Cameron.

And by the time the party was over, Fiorella would regret it.