Chapter 4
The cascading crystal chandeliers continued to bathe the room in their bright, airy light, but the dinner party had fundamentally shattered. The guests remained paralyzed in their velvet dining chairs, watching the confrontation unfold with breathless terror. They were seasoned politicians and syndicate lieutenants, but none of them dared to intervene in a dispute of this magnitude.
Camilla stared up at Soren, her fair, rosy skin drained of all color, leaving her looking sickly and translucent. She gripped the edge of her champagne silk gown, her diamond engagement ring catching the light as her hand shook violently. She opened her mouth to speak, to scream a denial, to call the child a liar, but her vocal cords were paralyzed by the sheer, overwhelming terror radiating from the man standing opposite her.
"Are you struggling to find a suitable explanation, Camilla?" Soren finally asked.
His deep, low voice remained completely level. The measured pause between his words was a calculated instrument of psychological torture. He did not step toward her, but the sheer gravity of his presence pressed her against the wall.
"Soren, darling, please," Camilla gasped, her American accent pitching high and breathless with panic. "Alice is confused! She has an overactive imagination! I sent Theo to the country estate with a wet nurse! He was running a fever, and I didn't want him exposed to the crowd!"
"Does a feverish child require a plastic decoy in his bassinet to maintain appearances?" Soren inquired, his perceptive eyes narrowing into cold slits.
"The maid set this up!" Camilla cried, tears of sheer desperation welling in her eyes. She pointed a shaking, diamond-adorned finger at Elodie. "She wants to ruin our evening! She has been trying to poison your children against me since the day I moved in!"
Elodie held her ground, her elegant posture unwavering despite the terror hammering in her chest. She instinctively reached a hand out, resting it gently on Alice's shoulder, pulling the little girl slightly behind the protection of her black maid dress.
"Would my daughter fabricate a nightmare to destroy the foundation of this family?" Soren asked, his voice echoing off the ivory-paneled walls.
"Yes!" Camilla shrieked, looking frantically around the room at the seated guests, silently begging someone—anyone—to intervene. But the elite crowd sat immobilized, their fair faces pale with shock, utterly unwilling to cross the mafia boss.
Soren slowly swept his gaze across the room, taking in the numerous guests sitting frozen at their polished walnut tables.
"Have you all finished your meals?" Soren asked the room at large.
May you like
It was phrased as a question, but the command hidden within it was unmistakable and absolute. Chairs scraped violently against the polished hardwood and marble floors as the guests practically scrambled to their feet. There were no polite farewells, no lingering handshakes. Men in tailored suits and women in evening gowns fled the bright, elegant room with frantic urgency, eager to escape the blast radius of Soren Blackwell’s wrath.
Within ninety seconds, the expansive dining room was completely empty, save for Soren, Camilla, Elodie, and Alice. The heavy mahogany doors slammed shut, sealing the room and locking Camilla inside with her greatest nightmare.
