Chapter 4
The bright cinematic lighting of the ballroom felt surreal against the horrific scene unfolding on the floorboards. The rescued fiancée was quickly surrounded by a protective ring of loyal enforcers, who draped a warm coat over her trembling shoulders. The gala guests, the elite power brokers of the city, stood frozen in shock. The Valehurst family was known for its ruthless business tactics, but the betrayal exposed tonight was incredibly intimate and devastating.
Dashiell stumbled backward, his polished shoes slipping slightly on the old wood. He frantically pointed a finger at the woman weeping on the floor.
“She was a spy, Emrys!” Dashiell shouted, his American accent cracking with desperation. “Her family wasn't merging with us; they were planning a hostile takeover from the inside! I found the wire transfers! I had to stop the wedding, but if I killed her, it would mean all-out war! I just needed to keep her hidden until I could negotiate a peaceful dissolution!”
Emrys stopped just a few feet away from his cousin. His broad shoulders were squared, his posture immaculate despite the throbbing pain in his hand. He looked at Dashiell with an expression of profound, terrifying emptiness.
“If your intentions were so noble, Dashiell, why did you tell me she ran away?” Emrys asked, his deep voice slicing through the frantic excuses.
“You wouldn't have believed me!” Dashiell cried, gesturing wildly. “You were blinded by her! I had to take control of the situation for the good of the family! You are too soft, Emrys! You let your emotions dictate your leadership!”
Emrys let out a slow, measured breath. He reached out with his uninjured left hand, casually adjusting the knot of his dark tie.
“Is it softness to value the truth, or is it cowardice to bury it in the dirt?” Emrys asked softly.
He didn't wait for an answer. Emrys raised his hand, signaling the enforcers standing near the walls.
“Lock down the estate,” Emrys commanded. “No one leaves this room until I have the names of every man who helped dig that hole.”
The massive oak doors of the ballroom slammed shut with a definitive, echoing boom. The heavy deadbolts slid into place, trapping the sixty guests inside. Panic rippled through the crowd, but no one dared to protest.
Dashiell’s two bodyguards—the Black American and the white American—exchanged a quick, nervous glance. They realized instantly that their employer was a dead man, and their loyalty was suddenly a fatal liability.
The white bodyguard raised his hands defensively, stepping away from Dashiell. “Boss, we didn't know she was under there. He just told us to guard his back at the gala.”
Emrys turned his dark, intense gaze onto the two towering men. The artistic tattoos on his neck shifted as he tilted his head.
“If you are truly ignorant, why did you stand by while he attempted to crush my hand?” Emrys asked.
The bodyguards had no answer. They froze, realizing that their inaction was just as damning as complicity.
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Coralie stood up slowly, brushing the dust from her black maid dress. She remained close behind Emrys, her heart breaking for the woman rescued from the floor, but her protective instinct for the boss remained paramount. She watched the two bodyguards closely, her expressive eyes narrowing as she noticed the Black American guard subtly slide his hand toward the inner pocket of his dark suit.
“Emrys, watch out!” Coralie shouted, her voice ringing clearly through the tense silence.
