Chapter 6 - The Uninvited Guests
The ballroom was an ocean of black tuxedos, shimmering silk gowns, and clinking champagne flutes beneath towering crystal chandeliers. Over five hundred of the state’s most influential figures had gathered to award the landmark waterfront contract—a deal that would define commercial architecture for the next decade.
Julian stood near the center stage, surrounded by his firm’s senior partners and three members of the state procurement committee. He was holding a glass of vintage champagne, laughing loudly, his face flushed with the intoxicated confidence of a man who believed the world was his for the taking.
He hadn't seen me enter.
Sophie and I walked through the perimeter of the room, drawing curious, appreciative glances from attendees. I bypassed table fourteen—the small, dimly lit table tucked near the kitchen swinging doors—and walked straight toward table one: the reserved VIP table designated for the key architects and their families.
Julian’s sister, Marta, was already seated there, wearing an ostentatious, ill-fitting magenta gown. She was busy snapping selfies and sipping champagne when she suddenly spotted me approaching.
Her jaw dropped. Her phone slipped slightly in her hand.
*“Was zum Teufel…?”* Marta hissed under her breath in German, her eyes darting over my designer gown, the dazzling diamond pendant, and finally landing on the radiant, pregnant woman holding my arm. *“What is that cow wearing? And who… is that Sophie? Has Julian lost his mind?”*
I didn't blink. I pulled out an empty chair, guided Sophie into it, and took the seat directly next to Marta.
“Good evening, Marta,” I said in smooth, flawless English, flashing her a blinding smile. “You look… vibrant in magenta.”
Marta scrambled to recover her composure, her eyes wide with terror as she stared at Sophie’s protruding belly. “Claire! What… what is this? Julian said you were feeling unwell. And who is this woman? Why is she sitting at the partner’s table?”
“This is Sophie,” I introduced smoothly, signaling a waiter and taking two flutes of sparkling cider from his silver tray, handing one to Sophie. “She’s an old friend of Julian’s. We ran into each other outside and realized we had so much in common. We simply had to sit together to celebrate Julian’s crowning achievement.”
Sophie took the cider, looking Marta dead in the eye with a cold, steady gaze. “Hello, Marta. How are your mother’s migraines? The last time I saw her at my apartment, she was complaining about the draft.”
Marta turned the color of chalk. She stood up so abruptly her chair legs screeched against the parquet floor. She turned and practically sprinted across the ballroom toward Julian, grabbing his elbow with such violent urgency that his champagne sloshed over his white cuff.
From across the room, I watched Julian turn irritably toward his sister.
Marta leaned in, whispering frantically in his ear while pointing directly at our table.
I watched Julian’s face transform through a symphony of horror. First, mild annoyance. Then, bewilderment. And finally, a look of sheer, paralyzing terror as his eyes locked onto me and Sophie sitting side by side, sipping our drinks beneath the glow of the chandelier.
Julian dropped his glass. The crystal shattered on the floor, the golden liquid splashing over his polished shoes. The partners beside him looked down in shock, asking if he was alright. Julian didn't answer. He turned pale as bone, his chest heaving, his legs carrying him across the floor like a condemned man walking to the block.
Before he could reach our table, however, the heavy double doors at the main entrance of the ballroom burst open.
A commotion erupted near the registration desk. Security guards attempted to intervene, but two uniformed county sheriff’s deputies pushed past them, holding manila folders and legal clipboards.
Behind the deputies, looking disheveled, wild-eyed, and screeching in furious German, were Helga and Klaus Bennett.
Helga was still wearing her house slippers and a fur coat thrown over a silk bathrobe, her hair completely unstyled, clutching a plastic shopping bag containing her medication. Klaus was red-faced, his tie crooked, shouting at the security guards who were trying to herd them out of the ballroom.
*“Let go of me, you peasants!”* Helga shrieked in German, her voice piercing through the ambient chamber music. *“Julian! Julian, where are you?! The police came to the house! They changed the locks! They threw our luggage onto the street like dogs!”*
The entire ballroom went completely, utterly silent. Five hundred of the city’s most distinguished residents turned their heads toward the shrieking matriarch in the doorway.
May you like
Julian froze dead in the center aisle, caught between the mother who had just been evicted from his stolen house and the two women sitting at his VIP table, watching him burn.
***
