The pre-wedding dinner was held at an exclusive rooftop restaurant overlooking Manhattan. The guest list was a sea of old money, tech entrepreneurs, and political figures. Elena felt entirely out of place in her off-the-rack cocktail dress, but she kept her chin up, determined to support Juliet.
She found her friend standing near the champagne tower. Juliet looked beautiful, but her makeup was uncharacteristically heavy, especially around her jawline.
"Jules!" Elena called out, navigating through the crowd.
Juliet’s face lit up with genuine relief. "Elena! You made it. I was so worried you wouldn't."
"I wouldn't miss this for the world," Elena said, hugging her. As she did, she felt Juliet flinch slightly when her hand brushed against Juliet’s upper arm. Elena pulled back, frowning. "Are you okay?"
"Yes, just a bit sore. Too many dance rehearsals for the reception," Juliet lied smoothly, though her eyes scanned the room rapidly.
A waiter stepped forward, holding a silver tray with champagne flutes. He accidentally bumped into a nearby table, causing a slight rattle of glass.
Arthur appeared out of nowhere. His hand came down on the young waiter's shoulder. The grip looked casual to the crowd, but Elena saw the waiter's face pale as Arthur’s fingers dug into his muscle.
"Careful," Arthur said, his voice a low, terrifying hum. "This vintage costs more than your annual salary. If you spill a drop on my fiancée, you won't just lose your job. I’ll make sure you can’t get hired to wash dishes in this city."
The waiter trembled, nodding frantically. "I’m sorry, Mr. Vance. It won't happen again."
Arthur let go, smoothing the front of his tuxedo. He turned to Elena, his expression shifting to a mask of polite charm. "Elena. How lovely. I see you’ve managed to take a break from your little building projects to join us."
Elena stared at him, her blood running cold. The absolute malice she had just seen in his eyes toward the waiter was now masked perfectly, but she knew it was there. Hidden just beneath the surface.