Chapter 5 - Crashing the Altar of Lies
Hook: "You look like you've seen a ghost, Adrien. But I am the storm.""Elena!"
"Is that Elena Veil?!"
"She's with Luca Moretti!"
The shouting of the reporters was a deafening roar, but I didn't look at them. I kept my head high, my hand resting on Luca's arm as we walked past the stunned security guards. No one dared to stop us. Luca’s reputation preceded him, and the presence of his armed men moving quietly through the crowd made it clear that any attempt to bar our entry would result in bloodshed.
We pushed open the double doors of the grand ballroom.
Inside, hundreds of wealthy guests were sipping champagne beneath massive crystal chandeliers. At the far end of the room, standing on a raised stage in front of a microphone, was Adrien.
He was wearing a tailored navy suit—the same color he had worn when we first met. He had a microphone in his hand, a look of solemn, dignified grief plastered across his handsome face.
"...and though my heart is broken," Adrien’s voice echoed through the state-of-the-art sound system, "I will not stop fighting. We will find Elena. We will bring her home, and we will make her captors pay—"
He froze.
His eyes had locked onto the entrance of the ballroom.
The microphone slipped from his hand, sending a loud, screeching feedback whine through the speakers. The entire room turned to see what had disrupted their host.
Luca and I walked down the center aisle, the crowd parting before us like the Red Sea.
Adrien’s face went completely pale, the color draining from his skin until he looked like a corpse. His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.
"Elena?" he finally gasped, his voice cracking through the silence of the room. "You're... you're alive?"
"More alive than I've ever been, Adrien," I said, my voice clear and carrying to every corner of the silent ballroom.
Adrien tried to recover, his survival instincts kicking in. He stepped off the stage, rushing toward me with his arms open, his eyes wide with a desperate, fake joy.
"My god, Elena! You escaped! Thank heaven—"
Before he could reach me, Luca stepped forward, his massive frame blocking Adrien's path. The air in the room instantly grew ten degrees colder.
"Back off, Cross," Luca warned, his voice a low growl that made several guests shrink back.
"Moretti!" Adrien yelled, turning to the crowd, trying to regain control of his narrative. "Security! Police! This monster kidnapped my fiancée! He’s brainwashed her! He’s holding her hostage!"
"The only monster in this room is you, Adrien," I said, stepping out from behind Luca.
I reached into my small black evening bag and pulled out a flash drive. I walked over to the tech booth near the stage, where the AV technician was staring at me in terror.
"Plug it in," I commanded him.
The technician glanced at Luca, who gave a single, slow nod. Terrified, the technician complied.
The massive projector screens on either side of the stage flickered.
Instead of the tribute slideshow of my face that Adrien had been displaying, a massive, high-definition image of a document appeared.
It was the signed contract.
The twelve-million-dollar transaction. My name, Adrien's signature, and the terms of my sale.
The ballroom erupted into a frenzy of whispers. Guests gasped, pointing at the screens.
"That's a forgery!" Adrien shrieked, his voice cracking with panic. "She's lying! She’s working with the mafia to ruin me!"
"Is this a forgery too?" I asked, pointing to the second screen.
The screen shifted to show a live, high-definition video feed. It was a dark, rainy shipping dock. On the screen, federal agents were currently swarming a container ship bearing the Cross family logo. Men in dark suits—Volkov soldiers—were being thrown to the ground and handcuffed, while crates of illegal automatic weapons were being hauled out of the double hulls of the vessel.
"Your mid-sea transfer was compromised, Adrien," I said, looking at him with nothing but pure contempt. "Your alliance with the Volkovs is dead. Your debt is public. And your 'mourning fiancé' routine is officially over."
Adrien looked at the screen, then at the shocked faces of his elite donors, and finally at me.
The mask of the gentle, grieving prince slipped completely away.
His face twisted into something ugly, venomous, and desperate.
"You ungrateful little bitch," he snarled, reaching into his jacket. "I made you! You were nothing but a pathetic seamstress sewing other women's dreams! I gave you a name! I gave you a life!"
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He pulled a compact pistol from his holster.
But he was too slow.
