Chapter 10
1024 Words
Chapter 10
ALEX
The car door opened, and immediately the cameras began flashing. I stepped out with Holloway's confident stride, adjusting my cufflinks in his characteristic nervous gesture as reporters called out questions.
"Mr. Holloway! Mr. Holloway! What brings you to tonight's event?"
"Is Holloway Industries considering investment in the merger?"
"Any comments on the recent Yggdrasil Group market activity?"
That last question made me pause. Word was already spreading about the movements I'd made. I smiled in what I hoped was Holloway's typically reserved manner.
"Simply here to enjoy an evening with colleagues and explore potential opportunities," I said, letting his accent carry the words. "No further comments this evening."
I moved through the crowd of reporters and into the mansion, immediately struck by the opulence on display. Crystal chandeliers cast rainbow light across marble floors, while servers in white uniforms circulated with champagne and hors d'oeuvres. The guest list was clearly A-level—I recognized faces from business magazines, political news, and society pages.
And there, across the main ballroom, was Lily.
She was breathtaking in a way that made my chest tighten despite everything I now knew about her. The black evening gown she wore was elegant and sophisticated, her dark hair swept up to showcase the diamond necklace I'd given her for our second anniversary. She was surrounded by a group of older men in expensive suits, playing the role of grieving wife while simultaneously conducting business.
I activated my enhanced hearing, focusing on her conversation despite the distance and ambient noise.
"...of course, Alex's disappearance has been devastating," she was saying, her voice carrying just the right note of brave sorrow. "But I know he would want me to continue with our plans. The merger will secure Snow Innovations' future, which was always his primary concern."
One of the men—I recognized him as a major investor—nodded sympathetically. "Terrible business, that. Any word from the kidnappers?"
"The police are following several leads," Lily replied smoothly. "I remain hopeful for his safe return, naturally."
The system provided real-time analysis:
[Stress Pattern Analysis: Subject exhibits elevated heart rate and micro-expressions consistent with deception. Emotional distress appears to be performative rather than genuine.]
So even while playing the part of the concerned wife, she was lying through her teeth. I stored that information away and continued scanning the room.
That's when I spotted Damien.
He was standing alone near one of the floor-to-ceiling windows, a champagne flute in his hand but his posture rigid with what looked like barely controlled anger. His usual confident demeanor was nowhere to be seen. Instead, he looked like a man wrestling with internal conflict.
I began moving in his direction, weaving through clusters of conversation while maintaining Holloway's social smile and nodding politely to people who seemed to recognize the face I was wearing.
As I got closer, I could see that Damien's jaw was clenched, his free hand balled into a fist at his side. His eyes were scanning the room constantly, but not in the casual way of someone enjoying a party. He looked like security personnel watching for threats.
"System," I subvocalized, "can you read Damien's vital signs from this distance?"
[Affirmative. Subject exhibits elevated stress levels, increased heart rate, and muscle tension consistent with high alert status. Recommend caution in approach.]
I was about ten feet away when Damien's head snapped in my direction. For a terrifying moment, I thought he'd somehow seen through the identity manipulation. But his gaze passed over me without recognition, continuing his sweep of the room.
That's when I noticed what had captured his attention: a group of men near the main entrance who were definitely not typical party guests. They wore expensive suits, but their builds and the way they moved screamed military or private security. They were scanning the crowd with professional thoroughness.
One of them spoke quietly into a wireless earpiece, and I caught a fragment of his words with my enhanced hearing: "...confirmed guest list... no sign of the target... maintain perimeter..."
The target? Were they talking about me? Or someone else entirely?
Damien drained his champagne glass and set it down with more force than necessary. I was close enough now to attempt reading his thoughts, but as always when it came to him, I hit a frustrating blank wall.
Instead, I decided on a direct approach. Stepping up to the window beside him, I adopted Holloway's confident manner.
"Quite the gathering," I said in my assumed British accent. "Though you look like a man who'd rather be elsewhere."
Damien turned to look at me, his expression carefully neutral. "Marcus Holloway, isn't it? I thought you were traveling in Asia."
The fact that he recognized Holloway immediately was concerning, but I maintained character. "Just returned yesterday. Couldn't miss an opportunity to see what all the fuss is about with this merger." I gestured toward the crowd. "Though I have to say, the security seems rather intense for a social gathering."
Something flickered in Damien's eyes. "Yes, well, Mrs. Snow has been receiving some rather disturbing communications since her husband's disappearance. Can't be too careful."
"Disturbing communications?"
"Threats, mostly. People demanding ransom, claiming responsibility. The usual circus that follows high-profile kidnappings." His voice was level, but I caught a slight tremor of... something. Anger? Fear?
I decided to push a little harder. "And what's your role in all this? I understand you're quite close to the family."
Now Damien's expression did change, his eyes hardening as they fixed on me. "Close enough to recognize a fishing expedition when I hear one, Mr. Holloway. Perhaps you should focus on whatever investment opportunities brought you here tonight."
The warning in his voice was clear, but before I could respond, a commotion near the main entrance drew our attention. The security team I'd noticed earlier was moving with sudden urgency, speaking rapidly into their communications equipment.
And striding through the front door, flanked by his own security detail, was Gerald Whitmore.
Our eyes met across the crowded ballroom, and I saw him pause, his gaze lingering on my transformed face with curious intensity.
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