Chapter 2 - THE POISONED VINTAGE
-2
The silence stretched so long that the distant notes of the string quartet playing inside the ballroom sounded surreal, like music drifting from another dimension.
Camilla let out a sharp, breathless laugh, stepping closer to Enzo and resting a possessive hand on his sleeve—a touch he didn't acknowledge. “You see?” she purred, her voice dripping with venomous satisfaction. “She has no excuse. She’s a thief or a lunatic. Probably slipped in through the agency without a proper background check. I want her off the property tonight, Enzo. Fired, blacklisted, and escorted out by the gates.”
Enzo didn't look at Camilla. His eyes remained fixed on Adeline, who stood motionless beneath his oversized jacket, staring fixedly at the blood stain spreading across the marble floor.
“Adeline,” Enzo said again, his tone dropping into that terrifying register that made grown men confess to crimes they hadn't committed. “Look at me.”
Slowly, Adeline raised her chin. Her eyes—a striking, stormy gray that didn't match the humble posture of a maid—met his head-on. There was no defiance in them, but there was no submission either. Just a deep, bone-deep weariness.
“I took the glass because it wasn't champagne, sir,” Adeline said clearly, her voice steady enough to carry to the front rows of the watching crowd.
Camilla’s smile vanished. “What did you say?”
“You heard her,” Enzo murmured, his eyes narrowing. He took a half-step toward Adeline, closing the distance between them. “Explain.”
Adeline swallowed, her throat working visibly. “An hour ago, while setting up the tray for the toast, I saw a guest—one of the junior aides from the state treasurer's office—slip a small glass capsule into the rim of Ms. Ashford’s second flute. He used a signet ring to crush it before stepping back into the crowd.”
A sharp gasp rippled through the doorway of the ballroom. Several guests instinctively stepped backward.
“That’s a lie!” Camilla shrieked, her face flushing a violent crimson. “She’s making it up! She’s trying to deflect because she assaulted me by grabbing my hand!”
“I didn't assault you, ma'am,” Adeline said, her voice remaining chillingly calm. “I saw you reach for that specific glass. If you had taken a single sip, you would have been dead before you finished your speech thanking the governor.”
Enzo’s expression did not change, but the air around him shifted. The casual danger he projected hardened into something lethal. He turned his head slowly toward the ballroom entrance, scanning the crowd of elite politicians, bankers, and socialites until his eyes locked onto a young man standing near the mahogany pillar—a man whose face had gone the color of spoiled milk, his hands trembling so violently he dropped his champagne glass onto the carpet.
“Thomas,” Enzo said.
The name wasn't a shout, but the young man flinched as if struck by a physical blow.
“Get him,” Enzo commanded without looking back.
Two of his bodyguards detached themselves from the shadows like sharks smelling blood in the water. Before Thomas could turn toward the exit, iron-grip hands clamped onto his shoulders, dragging him kicking and screaming into the illuminated corridor while the elite guests scattered like roaches when the kitchen light is turned on.
Camilla stood frozen, her hand still hovering in the space where Enzo’s arm had been. The reality of what had just happened—the poison, the plot, the maid who had intercepted death with her bare hands—crashed over her in a wave of cold horror.
“Enzo...” she whispered, her voice shaking. “I... I didn't know.”
Enzo finally looked down at her. His gaze was devoid of anger, which was infinitely worse. It was the look a man gives a discarded piece of trash before throwing it into an incinerator.
“You were too busy trying to break a crop over an innocent girl’s back to notice someone was trying to murder you in my house,” Enzo said softly. He stepped past her, pulling Adeline gently along with him by the elbow, ensuring she stayed safely wrapped in his coat.
May you like
As he reached the threshold of the ballroom, he stopped and looked back at his trembling fiancée one last time.
“The wedding is off, Camilla,” Enzo said, his voice echoing across the silent, ruined party. “Pack your bags. My men will drive you back to your father by midnight. If you are still in this city by sunrise, I won't use a riding crop.”
