Chương 3 - The Service Exit

"I'm fine," I called out, my voice tight and strained, vibrating with a panic I couldn't entirely mask. "Just give me a minute to fix my dress!"

"You've been in there a while," the groom replied, his tone shifting from casual concern to something sharper, tinged with the stubborn irritation of a man used to getting his way. "Eleanor is right here. She wants to make sure you didn't faint. Open the door right now."

I didn't answer. I could hear the faint, dry rustle of silk outside—Eleanor's gown. I could picture her standing just behind him, her hands folded neatly over her silver clutch, directing him like a puppeteer pulling strings. If they broke this door down, I wouldn't make it out of the hotel. The paralysis was slowly creeping down my left arm, turning my fingers into heavy, unresponsive stones.

I turned away from the main entrance, clutching the brass key in my palm so hard the sharp metal edges bit into my skin. Along the far wall of the suite, half-concealed behind a heavy damask velvet curtain, was a narrow, utilitarian door that blended seamlessly into the wainscoting. It wasn't listed on the hotel map. It was a remnant of the building's older history, a private service passage built for staff before the ballroom was renovated into an upscale wedding venue.

I threw the curtain back, shoved the brass key into the small keyhole, and turned it. The mechanism gave a loud, metallic *click* that seemed deafening in the quiet room.

"She's unlocking it!" the groom shouted outside.

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I threw my weight against the door just as a heavy thud struck the main suite entrance. The service door swung open into a dark, narrow stairwell smelling of damp concrete and old dust. I stumbled through the threshold, pulling the door shut behind me just as the crash of the main suite door echoed into the hallway. Working with frantic, desperate speed, I dropped the interior security latch into place. It wouldn't hold them for long, but it bought me the seconds I needed.

I turned and faced the steep, uncarpeted metal stairs descending into the bowels of the building. With my white lace train catching on the iron steps and my vision swimming at the edges, I began to crawl and stumble downward into the dark, following the scent of bleach and stale air toward the service basement.