THE ARRIVAL OF THE EXECUTIONER
1133 Words
By 6:00 PM, the hotel was humming with a tension so thick it was hard to breathe. Security guards were stationed at every entrance, their faces stone-cold. I had spent the afternoon under the thumb of my stepmother, Margaret, who was in a state of frantic rage. She had piled ten extra tasks on me, screaming that if one crystal glass didn't shine like the sun, she would throw me into the street.
I was sent to the executive floor to deliver coffee to my father’s private study. As I approached the slightly ajar door, the sound of Howard’s voice stopped me cold.
"I don't care about the girl, Margaret!" Howard’s voice boomed, followed by the clink of a glass—he was already drinking his stress away. "She is a constant reminder of the biggest mistake of my life. Every time I see her face, I see Rose. I see the scandal that almost ruined me".
"We should have sent her away when the mother died," Margaret hissed back. "Keeping her here as a maid was your idea of charity, Howard. Now she’s a liability".
"I regret ever getting that woman pregnant," my father said, and the words felt like a physical blow to my chest. "I regret that Celeste was ever born. I’m ashamed to even breathe the same air as her".
The tray in my hands tilted. A spoon slid across the silver surface with a loud, metallic clink. I didn't run. Instead, I pushed the door open.
Howard was by the window, his glass of scotch catching the light. Margaret sat in the leather chair, her eyes sharp and cold. They both froze. My father didn't look guilty; he looked annoyed, as if I were a cockroach that had interrupted his drink.
"Your coffee, sir," I whispered. I set the tray down. My hands didn't shake. The pain had finally turned into something harder—something like diamond. "I heard you.".
"Then you heard the truth, Celeste," Howard said, straightening his tie. "You’ve always known what you are to this family".
"I know exactly what I am," I muttered, turning to leave. In my pocket, I felt the cold metal of my mother’s pendant, the only thing I had left of a woman who had been erased by these people.
I didn't head to the maid's quarters. I headed to the ballroom.
The music was starting, a swell of strings that felt like a funeral march. I stood in the corner with a silver tray of champagne, invisible to the rich guests who looked past me. They didn't notice I had the same hazel eyes as the man at the head of the room.
Suddenly, the music stopped. The large wooden doors swung open.
Damien Chen didn’t just walk into a room; he took it over. He was thirty-eight, tall, and dressed in a charcoal suit that looked like armor. His face was carved from stone, his dark hair perfect, and his eyes—a frozen, alluring ice-blue.
"Mr. Chen," Howard stepped forward, his voice booming with fake confidence.
Damien didn't take his hand. He scanned the room, his gaze resting briefly on Vivienne, who struck a practiced, gleaming pose.
"Let’s get to the point,Howard," Damien’s voice was a low, smooth rasp. "The contract was specific. I save your empire from bankruptcy, and in exchange, I marry the eldest Harrington daughter. Is that correct?".
"Yes," Margaret chimed in, pushing Vivienne forward. "Our Vivienne is ready".
But Damien’s eyes suddenly snapped to mine. The world stopped. The hazel of my eyes met the frozen dark of his, and for a heartbeat, I felt a jolt of electricity so violent I almost dropped the tray.
He began to walk. Not toward Vivienne. Toward me.
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