Chapter 2 - The Ghost from Chicago
The silence between them stretched, thick and suffocating, despite the festive laughter echoing off the vaulted ceilings. Matthias stared at his wife, his mind racing to calculate the variables. He knew Serena; she was methodical, analytical, and fiercely proud. She didn't make impulsive moves.
“What are you talking about?” Matthias hissed, his fingers gripping the stem of his champagne flute until his knuckles turned white. “Who could you possibly have brought here? You drove straight from the house.”
“I didn't say he came with me in my car,” Serena said smoothly, adjusting the collar of her emerald green maternity dress. “Traffic from O’Hare can be unpredictable, especially during the holidays. But flights from Chicago usually land on schedule.”
Matthias’s breath hitched. A flicker of genuine panic crossed his eyes—the first real emotion he had shown all evening. “Chicago? You flew someone in from Chicago? Serena, if this is some petty game to embarrass me in front of the board—”
“It’s not a game, Matthias,” she interrupted, her tone chillingly flat. “You treated our marriage like a convenient business arrangement, and you treated our home like a revolving door. You thought because I was pregnant and isolated out here in Connecticut that I wouldn't fight back. You were wrong.”
Before Matthias could demand an explanation, the heavy oak doors at the main entrance opened again, letting in a sharp gust of December wind and snow. The guests closest to the foyer turned their heads.
A tall man in a tailored charcoal overcoat stepped inside, shaking the snow from his shoulders. He didn't look like an old-money banker or a tech developer. He carried himself with the hard, sharp edge of someone who worked for a living, his dark hair cropped short and his jaw shadowed with stubble. He handed his coat to the valet without a word, his dark eyes scanning the grand ballroom until they locked onto Serena.
Marcus Vance.
Matthias spun around, following the direction of his wife’s gaze. The color vanished entirely from Matthias’s face. He knew who Marcus was. Every major corporate player in the Midwest knew who Marcus Vance was—the ruthless corporate investigator and forensic accountant who had torn down three different conglomerates over the past five years by exposing hidden shell companies and asset stripping.
“No,” Matthias breathed, grabbing Serena’s wrist, his grip tightening dangerously. “What is he doing here? Serena, tell me right now what you’ve done.”
Serena didn’t flinch. She looked down at his hand on her wrist until, realizing how it looked to the surrounding guests, Matthias slowly let go.
May you like
“Let go of me, Matthias,” she said quietly. “And I’d suggest you go greet our guest. After all, he brought a very interesting file with him, and I’d hate for him to have to look all night for the host.”
Marcus was already crossing the marble floor, his stride purposeful, cutting straight through the sea of silk gowns and tuxedoes like a blade through water. Fiona Vale, standing near the entrance with her glass of champagne, tracked Marcus’s approach with sudden, sharp suspicion, her eyes narrowing as she realized he was heading directly toward them.
