Chapter 3
The clatter of crystal glasses and the low hum of affluent conversations provided a rhythmic backdrop to the Christmas Eve festivities. Iris carried the lidded wicker basket toward the hearth, her flat shoes gliding over the polished marble floor. The golden reflections of the chandeliers offered absolutely no place to hide her slightly rumpled appearance. She kept her head down, navigating the carved walnut furniture and burgundy velvet sofas with agonizing care.
From across the polished marble floor, Damon Rowe continued to converse with the donors, but his hyper-vigilant senses were already on alert. He excused himself from a conversation about real estate, his broad shoulders parting the sea of guests.
"Excuse me, Richard, I need to check on my son," Damon stated, his deep voice leaving no room for argument.
"Of course, Damon," the donor nodded, stepping aside.
Damon walked slowly, his dark eyes scanning the perimeter of the room. He spotted the towering Christmas tree, and beneath its glowing fairy lights, he saw his fiancée. Celeste Marsh had abandoned her post by the donors. Her emerald satin gown swept across the marble floor as she walked with a tight, deliberate, and predatory grace directly toward the fireplace.
"Celeste is moving too fast," Vincent, who had shadowed Damon, noted quietly.
"Stay here," Damon ordered his capo, picking up his pace. "Do not let anyone follow me."
Damon watched as Celeste closed the distance between herself and the trembling maid approaching the hearth. He moved with absolute, predatory precision, navigating the elegantly dressed guests in silence, determined to intercept whatever poison his fiancée was about to spit at his staff.
Iris stopped beside the glowing fireplace, the heat radiating intensely against her face. She held the lidded wicker basket securely in both hands, her arms aching from the weight.
Celeste stopped directly in front of the housemaid. She positioned herself carefully, ensuring the angle of her body shielded her harsh expression from the main room. She maintained her polished public expression, but her eyes burned with a malicious, possessive fury.
Celeste gestured sharply toward the roaring fire.
May you like
"Empty it," Celeste commanded quietly, looking directly at Iris. The venom in her voice was absolute. "All of it."
Iris hesitated, her chest heaving rapidly beneath the fitted black fabric of her dress. She moved closer to the flames, preparing to lift the lid and throw the supposed logs into the fire, completely ignorant of the life she was about to end.
