Chapter 5 - The Gala Confrontation
A flicker of light sparked in my father’s clouded eyes. The heavy fog of whatever drugs Celeste had been forcing upon him seemed to part for just a fraction of a second. His fingers twitched beneath mine, clumsily gripping my hand.
"My... my little girl?" he breathed, his voice so raspy and weak it broke my heart.
"Yes, Dad. It's me," I choked back a sob, maintaining my posture to look like a polite stranger making small talk from afar. "I need you to sign something. It's the only way to stop Celeste and Victor. They are destroying the company."
From my clutch, I pulled out the folded legal document Elias had prepared, along with a sleek silver pen. I slid it onto the table under the guise of an event brochure. "Sign it, Dad. Right at the bottom. Please."
His hand shook violently as he reached for the pen. The mental effort required to fight through the chemical haze was agonizing to watch. He managed to grip the pen, pressing the tip to the paper.
"Hey! What are you doing?"
The sharp, aggressive voice belonged to the security guard, who had finally turned back around. He took a threatening step toward me, his hand reaching for the radio on his lapel.
Before I could panic, Elias materialized out of the crowd, smoothly stepping into the guard's path. "Excuse me," Elias said in a loud, commanding tone, purposefully spilling his glass of whiskey onto the guard's shoes. "My apologies, friend! Clumsy of me."
The distraction bought my father exactly three seconds. With a final, monumental effort, he dragged the pen across the signature line. It was messy, jagged, and barely legible, but it was his.
I snatched the paper and shoved it into my clutch just as a freezing voice cut through the noise of the ballroom.
"Can I help you, Miss?"
I froze. Slowly, I turned around. Celeste was standing less than five feet away, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. She looked at my unfamiliar black hair, my heavy makeup, and my emerald dress. She didn't recognize me, but her predatory instincts sensed that something was wrong.
"I was just admiring the centerpieces," I said, disguising my voice with a slight, clipped accent. "And paying my respects to the founder."
Celeste stepped closer, her perfume—heavy rose and sandalwood—suffocating me. "How kind. Though my husband is not currently receiving well-wishes. He is tired."
Victor Sloane appeared behind her, his eyes scanning me with the same predatory look he had given me in the locked bedroom. "Do we know each other?" he asked, stepping into my personal space. "You look incredibly familiar."
My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. "I doubt it. I only arrived from London yesterday."
"Get out of there, now," Elias’s voice urged in my ear. "They're boxing you in."
I gave them a polite, icy smile. "If you'll excuse me, my associates are waiting."
I turned and walked away, fighting the urge to run. I could feel their eyes burning into my back. As I pushed through the crowded dance floor, Victor suddenly grabbed the shoulder of a security guard and pointed directly at me. The disguise had failed. They knew.
"Stop her!" Victor barked over the music.
The ballroom erupted into chaos. I abandoned all pretense of grace, hiking up the skirt of my heavy gown, and sprinted toward the kitchen service doors. The heavy doors swung open, and I collided hard with a startled waiter, sending a tray of champagne glasses crashing to the tile floor. I scrambled to my feet, slipping on the wet tiles, and bolted down the narrow, stainless-steel corridor.
Two guards burst through the doors behind me, their heavy boots pounding on the floor. I pushed past bewildered kitchen staff, throwing a metal utility cart behind me to block the narrow aisle. It bought me precious seconds. I burst out the back exit into the cold, rainy alleyway, gasping for air.
A car engine roared to life. Elias’s black sedan slid sideways into the alley, the passenger door flying open.
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"Get in!" he yelled.
I threw myself inside, and Elias slammed the gas pedal to the floor just as the guards burst out of the kitchen doors. We tore down the alley, leaving the gala and the nightmare behind us, the signed document burning like a beacon of hope in my trembling hands.
