Chapter 6
The bright, airy lighting of the garden offered no sanctuary for the secrets spilling onto the manicured lawn. The clean whites of the silk flower garlands lay crushed beneath Sloane, a stark metaphor for the ruined alliance.
"I was at the hospital," Sloane stammered, her words rushing out in a desperate, frantic babble. "I was there visiting her before she passed. The nurses took her jewelry off. I... I held onto it for safekeeping. I meant to give it back to you, but you were so devastated. I kept it to feel close to her."
"Do you believe me to be a fool?" Alden asked, his voice a low, vibrating rumble that chilled the blood of everyone listening. "My wife did not die in a hospital. She died in our home. In our bed. And her ring was on her finger when the coroner arrived."
Sloane swallowed hard, her lies fracturing under the weight of his absolute certainty. "You weren't there when she took her last breath, Alden. You were in the city. You don't know what happened in those final hours."
"I know she was suffering from a heart condition," Alden said, his jaw tightening, the short stubble bristling with suppressed fury. "I know the doctors said her heart simply gave out. Are you telling me you were in the room when it happened?"
"We were friends!" Sloane cried out, trying to push herself up into a sitting position. "I was comforting her! I was holding her hand!"
"And while you held her hand, did you slip the ring from her finger while her body was still warm?" Alden demanded, his eyes boring into hers.
Callista’s fingers tightened around Alden's arm. The sheer cruelty of the image—a woman stealing a wedding ring from a dying friend—was nauseating. Callista looked at the socialite on the grass, her beautiful face contorted with disgust.
"She promised it to me!" Sloane screamed, losing the last shreds of her composure. "She knew she was dying! She knew our families needed to merge to survive! She said I should take care of you! She gave it to me as a blessing!"
"Does a blessing require you to hide the jewelry and wear it secretly beneath your dress?" Alden asked smoothly, exposing the fatal flaw in her hysterical narrative.
The guests were completely silent now, the horrifying reality of the situation dawning on them. The engagement wasn't a political merger; it was the final stage of a prolonged, calculated usurpation.
"She was weak!" Sloane hissed, her true nature finally breaking through the polished, reassuring smile she usually wore. "She was holding you back! She didn't understand what it took to run this syndicate! I did what had to be done to secure our future!"
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Alden stared at the woman on the grass. The air in his lungs felt like glass. The grief he had carried for a year was suddenly igniting into a blinding, white-hot rage.
"Did you just confess to murdering my wife, Sloane?" Alden asked, the question hanging in the quiet, sunlit garden like an executioner's blade.
