Chapter 2 - The Man in the Waiter’s JacketThe screaming lasted less than thirty seconds.
Not the roses.
Not the expensive perfume drifting through the ballroom.
Not the smoked salmon, polished silver, or hundreds of candles burning beneath crystal chandeliers.
It was almonds.
Bitter almonds.
Faint enough that nobody else in the Marchetti mansion seemed to notice.
But Adeline did.
She had learned that smell in the worst way possible.
Three years earlier, her younger brother had nearly died after accidentally swallowing chemicals stored improperly in the restaurant kitchen where they both worked. The emergency-room doctor had explained every symptom, every strange odor, every warning sign while Adeline sat beside a hospital bed praying.
She had never forgotten.
Now, standing in a service corridor outside one of Chicago’s most extravagant engagement parties, Adeline stared at the champagne flute balanced on a silver tray.
The glass belonged to Camilla Ashford.
And something was wrong with it.
“Move.”
Adeline flinched.
Camilla stood directly behind her.
The future Mrs. Enzo Marchetti wore a pale blue designer gown that shimmered beneath the chandeliers. Diamonds rested against her throat. Her red hair fell in perfect waves around a face that magazines had described as unforgettable.
Tonight, two hundred guests had gathered to celebrate her engagement.
Judges.
Executives.
Politicians.
Doctors.
Bankers.
People whose names appeared on buildings.
And all of them understood one rule.
Nobody embarrassed Camilla Ashford.
Adeline lowered her eyes.
“Sorry, ma’am.”
Camilla reached for the champagne.
Adeline moved the tray away.
Camilla froze.
“What are you doing?”
“I need to replace this glass.”
“Why?”
Adeline’s heart hammered.
Because twenty minutes earlier, she had seen someone in white gloves step into the service alcove.
Because that person had touched only one glass.
Because that person had disappeared before Adeline could see their face.
Because now the drink smelled wrong.
But saying any of that aloud would create panic.
And Adeline had worked in the Marchetti household for only eleven days.
She was temporary staff.
Disposable.
Nobody would believe her.
“I spilled something near it,” she lied.
Camilla’s expression hardened.
“You spilled something near it?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Then bring another.”
Adeline nodded.
But Camilla reached forward again.
“I’ll take that one.”
“No.”
The word escaped before Adeline could stop it.
Several nearby guests turned.
Camilla stared at her.
“What did you say?”
Adeline swallowed.
“I said I should replace it.”
Camilla took the glass from the tray.
Adeline’s stomach dropped.
“Ma’am, please.”
Camilla smiled coldly.
“Do you understand where you are?”
Adeline looked toward the ballroom.
At the far end, Enzo Marchetti was speaking with three men near the staircase.
Even from fifty feet away, he drew attention.
Thirty-seven years old.
Black suit.
Open collar.
Dark hair.
A scar near his jaw that society photographers never managed to hide.
People whispered about him.
They said his father had built the Marchetti fortune through shipping, construction, and businesses nobody discussed openly.
They said Enzo had inherited the empire but not his father’s cruelty.
Others said that was wishful thinking.
Adeline knew only one thing.
The household employees feared disappointing him.
They feared Camilla more.
Camilla raised the champagne toward her lips.
Adeline acted.
She grabbed the glass.
Champagne splashed across Camilla’s dress.
Gasps swept through the ballroom.
The glass slipped from both their hands and shattered across the marble floor.
For one long second, nobody moved.
Camilla looked down at the stain spreading across ten thousand dollars of silk.
Then she looked at Adeline.
“You…”
Adeline stepped backward.
“I’m sorry.”
Camilla slapped her.
The sound cracked through the room.
Someone gasped.
Adeline stumbled into the wall.
“You stupid little thief.”
“Camilla.”
Enzo’s voice came from behind the crowd.
But Camilla was too angry to hear the warning in it.
She seized the slim riding crop displayed beside the ceremonial equestrian photographs near the hall entrance—a ridiculous decorative piece left there from the Ashford family’s charity polo exhibition earlier that evening.
She raised it.
Adeline lifted an arm.
The crop came down.
Pain flashed across her wrist.
“Camilla!”
Enzo was moving now.
Guests scattered from his path.
Camilla raised the crop again.
“You touched my glass in front of everyone.”
“I had to.”
“Why?”
Adeline’s eyes went to the broken champagne.
Then toward the service corridor.
Someone was watching.
A man in a waiter’s jacket.
No.
Not a waiter.
She recognized the shoes.
Black leather.
Silver buckle.
The same shoes she had noticed disappearing from the alcove.
The man saw her looking.
Then he slowly placed one finger against his lips.
Adeline went cold.
Camilla followed her stare, but the stranger had already vanished.
“Answer me!”
Adeline shook her head.
“I can’t.”
Camilla laughed.
“You can’t?”
The crop rose again.
A hand caught it in midair.
Enzo.
He stood between them.
His expression was frighteningly calm.
“Give it to me.”
Camilla stared at him.
“She attacked me.”
Enzo looked at Adeline’s bleeding wrist.
Then at the shattered glass.
Then back at his fiancée.
“I saw what happened.”
“She ripped champagne out of my hand!”
“And you hit her.”
“She’s staff.”
Silence.
It was not the sentence itself.
It was the way Camilla said it.
As if that explained everything.
Enzo’s eyes changed.
“Say that again.”
Camilla seemed to realize too late that something had shifted.
“Enzo, darling, I’m humiliated.”
“You hit her because she works for me?”
“She assaulted me!”
Enzo turned to Adeline.
“Why did you take the glass?”
Adeline’s throat tightened.
Across the ballroom, she searched for the man with the silver-buckled shoes.
Gone.
“I can’t tell you.”
Camilla threw up her hands.
“See?”
Enzo kept looking at Adeline.
Not angrily.
Carefully.
“What happens if you tell me?”
Adeline said nothing.
But her eyes betrayed her.
Fear.
Real fear.
Enzo noticed.
He lowered his voice.
“Are you afraid of Camilla?”
Adeline shook her head.
“No.”
That answer changed the room.
Because if the bleeding maid wasn’t frightened of the woman who had just struck her in front of two hundred guests…
Then who was she frightened of?
Enzo looked toward his security chief.
“Seal the doors.”
The ballroom erupted in murmurs.
Camilla grabbed his arm.
“Enzo, stop this. You’re making a scene.”
He pulled his arm away.
“No.”
His gaze fell to the champagne glittering across the marble.
“You made the scene.”
Camilla’s face drained of color.
Enzo removed the engagement ring box from his inside jacket pocket.
He had planned to present Camilla with her grandmother’s restored diamond setting during the midnight toast.
Instead, he placed the velvet box in her hand.
“We’re finished.”
The room went dead silent.
Camilla stared at him.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“You’re ending our engagement because of a maid?”
Enzo looked at Adeline again.
“No.”
Then his eyes returned to Camilla.
“I’m ending it because I finally saw who you become when you think someone has no power.”
Camilla’s lips parted.
Before she could answer, a crash sounded from the service corridor.
Enzo turned.
One of his security men shouted.
“Boss!”
Another voice followed.
“We found somebody running from the kitchen.”
Adeline’s blood turned cold.
Enzo looked at her.
“What was in that glass?”
She whispered the only answer she could give.
“I don’t know.”
Then she looked toward the corridor.
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“But I think whoever put it there knows I saw him.”
And somewhere behind the locked ballroom doors, a man began screaming that he had been paid to kill Camilla Ashford.
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