Chapter 2 - The Hidden Threat in the Frosting
The outraged whispers of the guests instantly died away, replaced by a heavy, suffocating silence.
Alexander dropped to his knees, his anger completely evaporating, replaced by a sudden, chilling dread. He grabbed Chloe by her shoulders, pulling her close. “Who, bug? Who did you see?”
Chloe sniffled, wiping her nose with the back of her small hand, and pointed a second time toward the service line. “The man... with the scar on his neck. He had a small silver tube. He squirted something purple right into the middle of the bottom tier while everyone was looking at the string quartet.”
Alexander stood up, his jaw clenching so hard muscles ticked in his cheeks. He scanned the catering staff lined up near the service doors. Most of the waiters looked pale, confused, and terrified. But as Alexander’s eyes swept across the group, he noticed a gap.
One of the tuxedo-clad servers—a tall man with dark, slicked-back hair—was nowhere to be seen.
“Security!” Alexander roared, his voice carrying the terrifying authority of a man accustomed to absolute control. “Block all exits! Nobody leaves this room!”
Before the two private guards stationed near the entrance could cross the room, a heavy metallic clank echoed through the ballroom.
Click. Click.
Alexander spun around. The massive, reinforced oak double doors of the Grand Meridian Ballroom had just swung shut. Before the guards could reach them, a motorized deadbolt slid into place with a mechanical thud.
The ballroom doors had been electronically locked from the outside.
“What the hell?” muttered the head of security, slamming his shoulder against the wood. It wouldn't budge. The digital control panel beside the frame was flashing a rapid red warning light.
At the center of the ruined cake, Vivienne Sterling stepped forward, her white wedding dress stained with a smear of red velvet sponge. Her face was twisted with fury. “Alexander, what is going on?! Who locked us in? And what is this nonsense about poison in the cake?”
“It wasn't nonsense, Vivienne,” Alexander said coldly. He stepped over the wreckage, knelt beside the smashed bottom tier of the cake, and reached into the sticky, ruined center.
His fingers brushed against something hard and metallic buried deep within the sponge.
He pulled it out. It was a shattered glass vial, its inner walls coated in a thick, iridescent purple residue that smelled faintly of bitter almonds—cyanide.
The guests closest to the table screamed and scrambled backward, creating a wide circle of empty space around the toxic evidence.
Alexander stood up slowly, holding the shattered vial in a linen napkin. His heart hammered against his ribs like a sledgehammer. If Chloe hadn't smashed the cake, he and Vivienne would have cut the first slice right through the poisoned core within ten minutes.
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Someone had tried to assassinate them on their wedding day.
And they would have succeeded if a six-year-old girl hadn't intercepted the plot.
