Chapter 3
The journey across the cream marble floor felt as though it stretched across miles rather than a few dozen feet. Elise moved with practiced elegance, her flat shoes making absolutely no sound, but the heavy, deliberate footsteps of Walter’s boots behind her seemed deafening to her own ears. The fifty guests at the banquet tables were deeply engrossed in their rich food and expensive liquor, oblivious to the storm approaching the head table.
Elise navigated the narrow spaces between the velvet dining chairs, her eyes fixed firmly on the empty seat situated just to the right of Damian Crowne. She could feel the heat radiating from the towering Christmas tree, the gold ornaments flashing in the cinematic lighting.
"More champagne over here, sweetheart," a capo slurred, snapping his fingers at Elise as she passed.
"In just a moment, sir," Elise replied smoothly, not breaking her stride, her heart pounding in her throat.
She reached the head of the table. Dahlia was laughing musically at something Silas had said, her emerald gown shimmering. Damian sat silently, his dark, sweeping hair catching the light as he observed the room with cold detachment.
Elise stepped into the immediate, bright circle of the head table. With trembling, careful fingers, she placed the steaming cup of tea directly beside the empty velvet chair.
As the porcelain saucer clicked softly against the wood, Walter Merrick stopped right beside Elise, stepping fully out of the shadows and into the warm golden light of the candelabras.
The visual contrast was jarring. A man in a weathered wool coat and a simple cardigan standing amidst tailored suits and diamond jewelry drew immediate, confused glances from the nearest guards.
But it wasn't a guard who broke the silence.
Six-year-old Owen, sitting just down the table in his navy suit and burgundy bow tie, had stopped eating. His fork hovered in mid-air. He stared across the white tablecloth, his young, fair face scrunching in absolute, mind-bending confusion. He blinked twice, as if trying to clear a dream from his vision.
The little boy slid off his chair, entirely ignoring the strict rules of the formal dinner, and took a tentative step forward.
"Daddy?" Owen asked.
The single word cut through the ambient noise of the room like a silver blade. It was spoken with a quiet, devastating disbelief that instantly severed the lively chatter of the surrounding capos.
"Mommy said you drowned," Owen continued, his small voice echoing into the sudden, suffocating silence of the hall.
May you like
The immediate vicinity froze. Silas halted his wine glass halfway to his mouth. The senator's wife gasped audibly, dropping her napkin.
The absolute, terrifying tension radiating from the realization infected the room instantly. Like a ripple across a dark pond, the silence spread outward. Every single dinner guest at the long banquet table stopped eating. They stopped speaking. Dozens of powerful men and women turned their heads in unison, their attention snapping entirely toward the weathered man standing beside the beautiful housemaid. The Christmas Eve dinner had just died.
