THE FIRST CRACK
959 Words
The chandeliers above glittered like fallen stars, their light spilling over velvet dresses and sharp tuxedos. Music swelled, laughter sparkled, and champagne flowed like liquid gold. Yet all I could feel was the weight of his hand at the small of my back.
“Relax,” Nicholas whispered, his breath grazing my ear as we moved across the glossy floor. “You’re trembling.”
“I’m not,” I mumbled back, though my pulse revealed me.
He tightened his hold, pulling me closer until my chest brushed against his. “Then maybe I am the one shaking. Do you believe that?”
I forced a smile, my mask perfect, though inside my body screamed with confusion. “No, Nicholas. You don’t shake. You don’t feel it.”
“Don’t I?” His eyes locked onto mine, a dangerous mix of dare and something darker. “Then why are you here, dancing with me, instead of running?”
Because I can't yet. Not until I know the truth.
I tilted my chin, meeting his stare without flinching. “Maybe I like dangerous games.”
He smirked, a sharp curve of lips that sent fire running through my veins. “Or maybe you’re already losing.”
The orchestra reached its peak, and for a moment, the world shrank to just push his hand hard against me, his smell, sharp and intoxicating, wrapping around me like smoke.
But then I heard it. A whisper. A voice just sharp enough to cut through the music.
“She thinks Nicholas ruined Charles Grayson. Foolish girl. He didn’t pull the strings.”
My breath caught. My father’s name.
The dancers around us blurred as fear crawled up my spine. Who said it? A woman in diamonds? A guy with slicked hair? I scanned the crowd, but faces melted into a sea of smiles.
Nicholas noticed. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” I lied, too quickly.
His hand tightened slightly. “Don’t lie to me on my own dance floor.”
“Not everything is about you,” I snapped softly, though the words burned my throat.
“Oh, but it is.” His voice dropped, silk laced with steel. “In this room, every secret has my shadow on it.”
The song finished, applause spread through the air, and he bowed slightly before releasing me. His eyes stayed too long, like he wanted to drag every unsaid word from my lips.
“I’ll find you later,” he whispered, low enough that only I could hear.
I turned quickly, desperate for air. My heart pounded, not just from him but from the whisper that still clung to my mind. Nicholas wasn’t the one who pulled the strings.
If not him… then who?
I walked toward the balcony, letting the cold night air sting my skin. My father’s face flashed in my memory on his last day, his shaking hands, the shame in his eyes. All this time, I thought Nicholas had crushed him. I built my revenge on that idea.
But what if it wasn’t true?
“What are you doing out here, pretty one?”
The voice came from behind. I turned quickly, ready to dismiss another drunk snob. But the man’s eyes were different, sober, sharp, intentional. He pressed a glass into my hand, but his smile didn’t touch his eyes.
“You shouldn’t stand alone at a party like this,” he said. “Too many ears.”
“I don’t know you,” I answered simply.
“You don’t have to.” He slipped something into my hand with a slight movement. Paper. Small. Folded.
I froze, looking at him. “What is this?”
“Answers,” he said quietly, leaning close enough for me to smell the faint trace of smoke on his clothes. “Read it when you’re alone.”
Before I could speak again, he melted into the crowd, gone as if he had never existed.
My chest tightened. I unfolded the note slowly, hiding it behind my champagne glass.
Six words, written in quick, crooked handwriting:
“Your father’s death wasn’t an accident.”
The world turned. My hands shook so badly I almost dropped the glass. I swallowed hard, my throat dry.
Not a chance.
Not. An. Accident.
For years, I thought guilt killed him. That shame stole his breath. That treason broke him.
But this… this meant death.
The music inside thundered, but it sounded far away. My knees wobbled, and I gripped the balcony railing.
Nicholas’s voice suddenly cut through the confusion, sharp and close. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I jerked around, shoving the note into my clutch before he could see. “I’m fine.”
His eyes narrowed. “Liar.”
“I needed air.”
“You needed distance,” he corrected, stepping closer until his frame shut out the glow from the hall. “Tell me who you were talking to.”
“No one.”
He leaned in, his tone laced with doubt. “Then why do you look like your heart is breaking all over again?”
My lips opened, but words refused to come. His gaze searched mine, and for one frightening moment, I thought he might see everything: the letter, the goal, the truth.
I forced out the only lie I could manage. “Because I danced with you.”
His jaw flexed, his eyes darkened, and for once, Nicholas Jackson looked shaken.
But as his stare burned into mine, the note’s words rang louder than any threat he could say.
Your father’s death wasn’t an accident.
And now, only one question screamed in my head:
If Nicholas wasn’t the monster who ruined my father… then who was?
- Writer
