Annette reached the bottom of the staircase, her heels clicking a sharp, deliberate rhythm on the marble floor. The noise of the party-the clinking of crystal, the murmur of gossip, the swell of violins-washed over her, but she felt detached, as if she were watching a movie she had already seen.
Lucas Adams looked up, his face brightening when he saw her. He stepped forward, offering his arm, his smile genuine and warm. "There she is. The star of the show. You look stunning, Annie."
Annette took his arm. Her fingers dug into his bicep, gripping the fabric of his tuxedo so hard her knuckles strained.
Lucas flinched, his smile faltering. He looked down at her hand, then up at her face. He saw the tension in her jaw, the terrifying stillness in her eyes.
"Annie?" he whispered, his voice dropping. "What's wrong? You're shaking."
"We need a room," she said, her voice low and devoid of inflection. "A private room. Now. With Edward. And Bernadine."
Lucas stared at her for a second, confusion warring with concern. But he was an Adams. He recognized a crisis when he saw one. He didn't ask questions. He just nodded, his expression hardening into professional seriousness.
"Okay," he said.
They moved through the crowd. Annette walked with her head high, nodding mechanically at guests who tried to stop her, but she didn't slow down. They approached Edward Bolton, who was holding court near the bar.
Annette swayed slightly, putting a hand to her forehead. "Edward," she murmured. "I… I feel faint."
Bernadine Christian, Hank's stepmother, materialized from the crowd instantly. She was wearing a red dress that was slightly too bright for a future mother-in-law. Her smile was plastered on, sweet and predatory.
"Oh, dear!" Bernadine cooed, reaching out to touch Annette's arm. "Pre-wedding jitters? Or perhaps that corset is too tight?"
Annette recoiled from her touch as if she had been burned. "I need to sit down. Somewhere quiet. The Library."
"Of course," Edward said, looking annoyed at the interruption but maintaining the facade. "Bernadine, help her."
"Just family," Annette added sharply. "Edward. Bernadine. Lucas."
She led the way. The Library was down a side corridor, heavy with the scent of old paper and leather. As soon as they were inside, Lucas shut the heavy oak doors. He signaled to his personal bodyguard, who stood outside.
The lock clicked. The sound of the party vanished, replaced by a suffocating silence.
Annette walked to the large leather chair behind the desk-Edward's chair-and sat down. It was a power move. Edward bristled, his eyebrows drawing together.
"Annette," Bernadine said, her voice dripping with faux concern. "Where is Hank? He should be here if you're feeling unwell."
Annette placed her clutch on the desk. She took out her phone and set it down, the black screen facing the ceiling.
"Hank is currently… busy," Annette said. The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. "In the Blue Room."
Bernadine's smile froze. Her eyes darted to Edward, then back to Annette. "What do you mean, dear?"
Annette didn't answer. She tapped the screen.
The video played.
The silence of the library magnified the sounds. The wet, sloppy noises of kissing. The rustle of clothes. And then, Hank's voice, clear and arrogant.
"...the Adams fortune pays for the Senate run..."
"...clueless cash cow..."
Edward's face went from confused to pale, and then a deep, mottling purple. He stared at the phone as if it were a bomb.
Bernadine let out a small gasp. She lunged forward, her hand reaching for the device. "Turn that off! It's-"
Lucas stepped between her and the desk. He didn't touch her, but his presence was a wall. He looked at the screen, his jaw clenching until a muscle popped.
"A misunderstanding!" Bernadine cried, her voice rising in pitch. "Edward, tell him! Boys will be boys. It's just stress!"
Annette laughed. It was a dry, humorless sound that scraped against the back of her throat. "Stress," she repeated. "Is that what we're calling it?"
"This is a breach of contract," Lucas declared. His voice was cold, his lawyer persona fully activated. "Fundamental breach of trust. The merger is based on this union. If the union is a sham, the deal is void."
"Void?" Edward choked out. He slumped into a guest chair, the fight draining out of him. "Lucas, be reasonable. The stock drop alone..."
"The stock drop will be the least of your worries," Annette said softly. "Wait until the press gets this video. 'Bolton Heir Embezzles Fiancée's Dowry for Mistress'."
"You wouldn't," Bernadine hissed.
"Try me," Annette said.
Suddenly, the door handle rattled. Someone was trying to get in.
"Open it," Annette commanded.
Lucas unlocked the door and pulled it open.
Hank stumbled in. His shirt was buttoned wrong. His hair was a mess. He looked flushed and slightly drunk. Behind him, hovering in the hallway like a ghost, was Elena Vance. She looked pale, her eyes wide with fear as she saw the assembly.
"Hey," Hank said, grinning stupidly. "What's going on? Why is everyone in here? The party's out there."
Edward stood up. He grabbed a heavy crystal tumbler from the side table and hurled it.
It smashed at Hank's feet, exploding into a thousand glittering shards. Whiskey splattered onto Hank's patent leather shoes.
Hank froze. He looked at the glass, then at his father's murderous face.
"Dad?" he squeaked.
Annette sat back in the leather chair, crossing her legs. She looked at him with eyes that held no love, no warmth, only a terrifying emptiness.
"You're late, darling," she said.
Bernadine made a cutting motion across her throat, trying to signal Hank to shut up, but it was too late.
Hank looked at Annette, then at the phone on the desk. The video had looped. It was paused on a freeze-frame of his face buried in Elena's neck.
Annette stood up slowly. "The wedding is off," she said. She paused, letting the words hang in the air like a guillotine blade.
"Unless..."
