Chapter 4 - The Engagement PartyThe chandeliers of the Bellandi ballroom blazed with five thousand crystals, casting prismatic patterns over silk gowns, tailored tuxedos, and the glittering elite of New York’s high society.
It was supposed to be the celebration of the year: the official engagement gala for Lorenzo Bellandi and Vanessa Rourke.
Outside, a light autumn rain began to streak against the towering stained-glass windows. Inside, a string quartet played softly in the corner, while waiters in crisp white jackets circulated with flutes of vintage champagne.
Vanessa stood near the grand staircase, wearing a backless emerald dress that cost more than a small house. She accepted congratulations with a radiant, rehearsed smile, her eyes constantly scanning the room for one specific person.
"Where is he?" she murmured out of the side of her mouth as Dr. Daniel Keene stepped up beside her, holding a glass of sparkling water.
"He's still in the library," Keene whispered, his hand shaking slightly as he took a sip. "He refused to dress for the gala. Said he wasn't in the mood to receive guests."
"If he suspects anything—"
"He doesn't suspect anything," Keene cut her off, though his own sweat betrayed him. "I checked the backup medical locker this afternoon. The extra doses are secure. Unless he somehow tested that exact pill the kid picked up—which is statistically impossible—he has no proof."
At that moment, the double doors at the end of the grand ballroom swung open with a heavy, deliberate crash.
The music stopped mid-note. The chatter died instantly, replaced by a suffocating, dead silence.
Every head turned toward the entrance.
There, standing tall, broad-shouldered, and entirely upright in the doorway, was Lorenzo Bellandi.
He wasn't in a wheelchair.
He wore a custom-tailored charcoal tuxedo, his dark hair combed back, his posture rigid and commanding. Two heavy gold-plated canes rested in his hands, but he wasn't leaning on them for support; he was holding them like weapons.
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Vanessa dropped her champagne flute. It shattered against the marble floor, the sharp sound echoing like a gunshot.
Dr. Daniel Keene took three steps backward, his face turning the color of ash.
May you like
Lorenzo’s dark eyes swept across the room, locking instantly onto Vanessa, then drifting slowly to the trembling doctor.
"Good evening, everyone," Lorenzo’s voice rolled through the ballroom, deep, resonant, and dripping with lethal menace. "I trust I haven't missed the toast."
