Chapter 4
The heavy doors clicked shut, plunging the vast, luminous dining hall into a profound, ringing silence. The cascading crystal chandeliers continued to cast their warm golden light over the abandoned fine porcelain and half-empty crystal wine glasses. The opulent space, designed for celebration, now felt like a gilded interrogation chamber.
Celestine backed away from the head table, her heels clicking unsteadily against the polished floor. She wrapped her arms around her waist, a defensive posture that crushed the sculpted satin of her expensive gown. Her diamond earrings shook as she wept, her carefully constructed facade entirely destroyed.
"Bennett, you cannot believe this is real," Celestine sobbed, her chest heaving. "My family arranged this marriage! We are supposed to unite our syndicates! Are you going to throw all of that away because of a lying maid and a confused old man?"
Bennett stood immovably in his tailored dark three-piece suit. He slowly crouched down, bringing his handsome, angular face level with his father’s.
"Can you tell me exactly why she put you down there, Father?" Bennett asked gently, his deep voice softening significantly to comfort the older man.
Frank coughed, leaning heavily against Selma’s supporting arm. He looked at the housemaid, who gave him an encouraging, tearful nod, before looking back into his son's cold, but loving, eyes.
"I heard her, Bennett," Frank explained, his voice trembling but remarkably clear. "I heard her giving orders to the staff. She was threatening to kill the chef's family if he didn't adjust the menus to her liking. She hit one of the gardeners. I told her I was going to expose her cruelty to you. The next night, her men grabbed me from my bed and dragged me down here."
Celestine let out a blood-curdling scream of denial. "He is lying! The maid told him to say that! She has been stealing information and trying to frame me for it!"
Bennett rose slowly to his full height. He turned his broad, powerful shoulders toward his fiancée. The extremely short stubble on his jawline seemed to bristle with barely contained violence.
"Would my father risk his life in this room to manufacture such a claim?" Bennett asked.
"Yes!" Celestine shrieked, pointing viciously at the housemaid. "Look at her! She thinks she's better than me just because she plays the innocent victim!"
Bennett didn't look at Selma. He kept his perceptive eyes locked entirely on Celestine, dissecting her panic, reading the absolute guilt written plainly across her flushed, rosy skin. He had survived in the criminal underworld by being an unparalleled judge of human character. He knew when someone was lying to him, and he knew the awful, crushing weight of the truth.
"Are you capable of telling the truth, Celestine, or must I extract it from you?" Bennett asked, taking a slow, deliberate step toward her.
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"I love you, Bennett!" she wept, falling to her knees on the luxurious rug, the sculpted satin of her gown pooling around her. She clasped her hands together in a begging gesture. "Please, darling! My father forced me to do it! He said your father was standing in the way of the merger! He wouldn't step down! I didn't want to hurt him!"
"Did you believe that torturing the former head of this family would secure your place at the top of this empire?" Bennett asked, his voice dropping to a terrifying, gravelly whisper.
