Chapter 3
The crackling of the ornate marble fireplace seemed deafening in the profound, suffocating silence of the dining hall. Daria’s face, previously flushed with wine and the triumph of the evening, drained of all color until her rosy skin turned the shade of ash. Her diamond earrings trembled slightly as a subtle, uncontrollable shake took over her body.
Nolan did not break eye contact with her. He slowly raised his tattooed hand, resting his knuckles on the polished walnut table. The silence stretched until it became agonizing, the elite guests holding their collective breath.
"Are all of you waiting for my permission to leave the room?" Nolan asked, his deep, low voice echoing across the long table. He didn't look at the guests; his cold eyes remained entirely fixed on the woman who had impersonated his wife.
The question was a direct command. Instantly, the scraping of velvet dining chairs against the hardwood floor sounded like thunder. Dozens of capos, crime bosses, and politicians scrambled to their feet, abandoning their fine porcelain plates and crystal stemware. They moved with a hurried, terrified silence, practically sprinting toward the heavy silk curtains and out the grand double doors of the dining room. No one offered their goodbyes or dared to look back.
Within two minutes, the massive, luxurious room was entirely empty, save for the four of them: Nolan, Daria, Alma, and Lydia. The heavy mahogany doors clicked shut, echoing with a hollow finality.
"Nolan, darling, please," Daria whispered, her voice cracking as the reality of her isolation set in. She reached out across the table, the replica engagement ring flashing in the candlelight. "She is delusional. Or worse, she is trying to frame me! You know how jealous she has always been of our life!"
Nolan slowly lowered his hand from the table. He looked at the faint restraint marks on Lydia's wrists, noticing the worn edges of her cardigan, then back at the identical woman in the satin gown.
"Do you believe my intellect is as fragile as your lies?" Nolan asked. His measured pauses carried the weight of a death sentence.
"The maid set this up!" Daria stammered, pulling her hand back as if the table had burned her. "She’s manipulating you! She hates me! She’s been trying to ruin this anniversary since the day I moved her into the guest wing! She wants your money, Nolan!"
Alma stood her ground, though her knees felt weak. She kept her hands gently resting on Lydia's shoulders, refusing to defend herself. The truth was already sitting in the chair; it didn't need her protection.
"Do you think I am blind to the face of a woman who chained my wife like a dog?" Nolan asked, stepping slowly around the edge of the table, his broad shoulders dominating the space. "Is burying a twin the only way you could secure a velvet chair?"
"It wasn't like that!" Daria shrieked, losing her aristocratic composure entirely. "She was holding you back! She was weak! You needed a queen, Nolan! I deserved you! I could be exactly what she was, only better!"
"Did you think I would crown a woman whose hands are stained with the torture of my family?" Nolan asked, taking another slow, deliberate step toward her.
"You need me!" Daria sobbed, real tears of panic finally spilling over her cheeks as she backed away, her satin gown catching on a velvet chair. "My family brought you the southern distribution lines! We built an alliance! If you touch me, our father will start a war that will burn this city to the ground!"
"Do you think the threat of a war frightens me more than a traitor sleeping in my bed?" Nolan inquired, tilting his head slightly, the small neck tattoo shifting against his collar.
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He didn't wait for her to process the absolute lack of mercy in his eyes. He reached into the inner pocket of his tailored dark suit, his refined hand tattoos catching the golden light, and withdrew a heavy, encrypted mobile phone.
"Are you waiting in the grand foyer, Marcus?" Nolan asked into the receiver. He paused, listening to his underboss. "Will you bring two men into the dining room immediately?"
