Chapter 2 - Shadows in the Service Corridor
The heavy mechanical metal door of the service corridor slammed shut behind Ethan with a grinding thud, echoing through the concrete stairwell like a gunshot. I remained frozen on the ballroom floor, my knees still slightly bent from where I had knelt before the empty wheelchair. Around me, the party guests continued their shallow laughter, entirely oblivious to the small earthquake that had just shaken the center of the room. A few feet away, Brooke reappeared from the direction of the bar, holding a fresh glass of sparkling wine. Her burgundy gown swished against the floor as she approached the abandoned metal chair, expecting to find her husband still trapped beneath the plaid blanket. When her eyes met the empty seat, she froze. The glass in her hand tilted dangerously, a few amber drops splashing onto the polished parquet. Her gaze darted frantically across the crowded room, searching the sea of tuxedoes and evening dresses for a man she clearly believed was physically incapable of standing.
Her head snapped toward me, her eyes narrowing with sudden, venomous suspicion as she realized I was the last person who had spoken to him. Brooke crossed the distance between us in three long, furious strides, her breath smelling faintly of vintage champagne. "Where did he go?" she demanded, her voice pitched low enough to avoid drawing the attention of the surrounding guests, but sharp enough to slice glass. Her manicured fingers dug into the edge of a nearby cocktail table. I stood up slowly, smoothing my white apron with trembling hands, forcing my voice to remain even and professional. "I'm sorry, ma'am? Who are you referring to?" I asked, feigning ignorance while my heart hammered frantically against my ribs. Brooke sneered, stepping closer into my personal space. "My husband. Ethan. Don't play games with me, girl. I saw you kneeling right here. Which way did he walk?" She scanned the exits, panic momentarily piercing her arrogant facade. I kept my chin leveled, remembering the hard glint in Ethan's eyes just moments before he stood. "I was just checking if he needed assistance, ma'am. When I stood up, he had already moved through the crowd toward the east exit. I assumed he was with you."
Brooke muttered a harsh profanity under her breath, her eyes flashing with malice. "Useless. Both of you," she hissed, before turning on her heel and marching rapidly toward the main lobby elevators, her burgundy train trailing behind her like a pool of fresh blood. I let out a long, shuddering breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. My knees felt weak. As I turned back to clear the stray cocktail glasses left on the nearby table, my boot scraped against something small and metallic near the base of the wheelchair. I glanced down. Half-hidden beneath the edge of the plaid blanket that Brooke had discarded onto the floor lay a heavy silver cufflink, engraved with an interlocking 'V'. I knelt down quickly, sliding the cold metal object into the deep pocket of my maid apron before anyone else could notice. The metal was still warm from his skin. My hands shook as I stood back up, clutching the tray of empty flutes to my chest. Ethan Vance wasn't just walking; he was running, and he had just left his mark right in the middle of my world. Without thinking twice about the consequences, I abandoned my tray on a service cart, turned away from the ballroom, and slipped quietly into the dim, cool shadows of the service corridor.
