Chapter 2 - The Lion's DenThe grand ballroom of the Grand Azure Hotel was suffocatingly opulent. Chandeliers made of imported Bohemian crystal cast a cold, brilliant light over the city’s elite, who laughed and clinked champagne flutes as if the world outside weren't rotting from the core.
I smoothed my jacket and stepped through the arched double doors.
Almost instantly, all eyes turned toward me. Word of my reclusive nature over the past two years had made me a ghost in high society. But tonight, I carried myself differently. The slump in my shoulders was gone.
"Samuel, darling!"
A sharp, perfectly manicured hand touched my arm. Daria Kincaid. At sixty-five, she still commanded the room like an empress, draped in emeralds that outshined the lights above. Her eyes, cold and calculating like polished obsidian, scanned my face for any sign of weakness.
"You're late," she murmured, a tight smile playing on her lips. "And you look... energized. I hope you haven't been entertaining more of those ridiculous conspiracy theories about Catherine's death again."
I forced a slow, cold smile onto my face—a mask she had taught me how to wear.
"Never, Mother," I replied smoothly, taking a glass of bourbon from a passing waiter. "In fact, I was just thinking about the past. How a person can completely disappear, and how easily everyone moves on."
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Daria’s smile flickered for a microsecond—just a fraction of a second—before her professional composure locked back into place. She patted my arm. "The dead stay dead, Samuel. It is the living we must manage. The board vote for the new corporate restructuring is tonight. Your vote will secure my position as chairwoman permanently. Don't disappoint me."
"I would never dream of it," I whispered, clinking my glass against hers. Enjoy your throne while it lasts, Mother. The ceiling is about to cave in.
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