Chapter 3
The tension in the grand dining room was a physical weight, pressing down on the chests of the elite guests who dared not move a muscle. The warm, golden light of the chandeliers now felt harsh and exposing. Ethan stood over Vanessa, a terrifying monument of contained fury. His tailored dark three-piece suit seemed to absorb the light around him, and the family signet ring on his hand caught the glare of the candles.
"Are all of you going to leave my home immediately?" Ethan asked, turning his head slightly to address the crowded room without ever taking his eyes off his fiancé.
It was phrased as a question, but the mafia bosses, politicians, and socialites sitting in the champagne velvet chairs understood it as a direct, non-negotiable command. Chairs scraped loudly against the floorboards as dozens of people stood in unison. They abandoned their crystal stemware and gold-rimmed porcelain, rushing toward the heavy double doors in a frantic, silent exodus. No one wanted to be in the room when Ethan Blackwell unleashed his wrath.
Within moments, the massive dining room was empty, save for Ethan, Vanessa, and Lucy, who remained frozen beside the brass floor vent.
"Why are you trembling, Vanessa?" Ethan asked. His voice remained quiet and measured, never rising in volume, which only made it infinitely more terrifying.
"Because you are scaring me!" Vanessa cried, gripping the edge of the walnut table. Her sculpted satin gown shimmered as her chest heaved with panicked breaths. "You're looking at me like I'm an enemy! Someone is playing a sick game with us, Ethan! We have enemies everywhere!"
"Did my enemies lock my wife in my own cellar?" Ethan inquired. He took another slow step forward. The refined, generously spaced tattoos on his hands flexed as he adjusted the cuffs of his suit. "Did my enemies convince me that the woman I loved had abandoned our family?"
"She did abandon you!" Vanessa shrieked, her composure shattering completely. "She hated this life! She hated the danger! I was the one who stayed to pick up the pieces! I was the one who loved you!"
Down on the floor, Lucy leaned closer to the brass grille. Her delicate cheekbones were pale, but her expressive brows knit together in fierce determination.
"Mrs. Blackwell?" Lucy whispered into the vent. "Are you hurt?"
"Lucy," Claire’s exhausted voice drifted up. "She has the keys. The iron door at the bottom of the stairs... she has the only key."
Ethan’s perceptive eyes flicked down to Lucy, processing the information instantly, before returning to Vanessa’s terrified face. The artistic tattoo on his neck shifted as he tilted his head, analyzing the liar standing before him.
"Where is the key to the cellar door, Vanessa?" Ethan asked, extending his tattooed hand, palm up.
May you like
"I don't have it!" Vanessa lied, taking another step backward until her back hit the ivory-paneled wall. "I don't know what she's talking about! The staff manages the keys!"
"Do you believe you can lie to me while she speaks the truth from beneath our feet?" Ethan asked, his voice a low, lethal vibration. "Will you hand me the key, or must I take it from you?"
