Chapter 1: The Six-Minute Warning
The white marble floors of the luxury hotel lobby caught the amber glow of the soft ambient wall lighting, casting long, polished reflections across the room. Behind us, the stone fountain murmured a steady, rhythmic splash, its lit edges cutting through the late-night quiet. My fingers tightened instinctively around the smooth silk and beadwork of my small emerald clutch bag, the metal clasp biting slightly into my palm.
"Oh, my God," I whispered, the words escaping my throat before I could stop them.
My gaze remained locked on the figures standing near the water's edge. The man in the classic black tuxedo with a bow tie turned his head, his sharp features tightening in sudden disbelief as his eyes shifted from me toward the elegant pregnant woman standing beside the fountain. She wore a shimmering burgundy sequin sleeveless gown that caught the warm overhead lights, her expression completely unreadable, perfectly still against the sudden tension in the room.
Beside me, the tall, handsome man in the tailored black suit with a bow tie shifted imperceptibly, his body angling in a protective half-stride that placed a solid barrier between me and the open expanse of the lobby. He didn't flinch. Instead, his hand rose with practiced deliberation, his fingers pulling back the cuff of his sleeve to reveal the silver luxury wristwatch strapped to his wrist. He glanced down at the dial, checking the time with absolute calm.
"We have six minutes," he said, his voice low, steady, and entirely level against the ambient murmur of the room.
The man in the tuxedo stared at him for a fraction of a second before looking back down at the glowing hands of the silver watch.
"5:48," the man in the tailored suit added, his tone unyielding, a marker dropped into the quiet air like a heavy stone.
The weight of the number hung between us, stripping away the polished veneer of the gala happening just beyond the arched double doors. The tuxedo man's composure cracked at the edges. He abandoned his spot by the fountain, taking two sharp steps forward before turning his gaze back toward the pregnant woman in the burgundy gown with a look of mounting panic.
May you like
"What are you doing here?" he shouted, the demand cutting clean through the background murmur of the lobby.
The woman in the burgundy gown didn't blink. She held her ground near the splashing water, her hands resting lightly over her silhouette, her stone-faced look refusing to yield an inch. The seconds began to tick away against the quiet marble, leaving no room for retreat.
