Chapter 2 - The Woman in the ChairCeleste Beaumont had always believed fear belonged to other people.
She used it like perfume. She wore it lightly, beautifully, and with purpose. She knew which assistant could be threatened with unemployment, which charity wife could be humiliated with a rumor, which old man could be flattered into signing a check.
But fear on her own skin felt different.
It felt ugly.
It felt cold.
It made her diamonds heavy.
“Damian,” she said, lowering her voice. “You cannot lock guests inside a ballroom.”
Damian looked toward the chief of palace security.
“Mr. Cole.”
A broad-shouldered man in a dark suit stepped forward.
“Yes, sir.”
“Phones stay with the guests. Nobody is being detained. But nobody leaves until the police arrive.”
Celeste flinched.
Police.
The word sliced through her confidence.
“For what?” she asked, laughing too loudly. “Because a maid grabbed me?”
“No,” Helena said from the wheelchair. “Because you tried to have me declared mentally incompetent.”
A murmur passed through the room.
Celeste turned to Helena with sharp eyes.
“You poor thing,” she said sweetly. “You’re confused again.”
Helena smiled.
It was a small smile, but it frightened Celeste more than Damian’s anger.
“I was confused when you changed my medication,” Helena said. “I was confused when my nurse disappeared. I was confused when every letter I wrote to my son was returned unopened.”
Damian’s jaw tightened.
Celeste’s head snapped toward him.
“She’s ill,” Celeste said quickly. “You know this. Doctors said—”
“One doctor said it,” Damian interrupted. “A doctor hired by your foundation.”
Celeste’s face hardened.
Then she turned on Elara.
“And who filled your mother’s head with these fantasies?” Celeste demanded. “Her? The maid?”
Elara stood still near the wheelchair.
She felt every eye in the room on her.
A maid was supposed to disappear after serving. A maid was supposed to lower her gaze and swallow insult like bad wine. Elara had learned that rule in every mansion kitchen, every hotel laundry room, every rich woman’s dressing suite where power came wrapped in silk.
But tonight she did not lower her gaze.
“I didn’t fill anyone’s head,” Elara said. “I listened.”
Celeste laughed.
“To gossip?”
“To a woman who said she was being frightened in her own home.”
The room went quieter.
Damian turned to Elara.
“Tell them.”
Elara’s throat tightened.
This was the moment she had feared. Not Celeste’s rage. Not losing her job. Not being dragged out by security. She feared speaking in a room designed to remind people like her that their voices did not matter.
Helena reached out a trembling hand.
Elara stepped closer and let the old woman’s fingers touch her sleeve.
That small gesture steadied her.
“I was hired three months ago as temporary event staff,” Elara said. “On my second week, Mrs. Ashcroft asked me to bring tea to the east library. She gave me a napkin with three words written inside.”
Damian’s eyes narrowed.
“What words?”
Elara looked at Celeste.
“She is starving me.”
A horrified sound moved through the guests.
Celeste barked, “That is disgusting.”
Elara continued.
“At first I didn’t believe it. Mrs. Ashcroft had food brought to her suite every day. But I started checking the trays when they came back.”
“And?” Damian asked.
“Untouched food had been replaced with half-eaten plates before the trays reached the kitchen. Someone wanted the staff records to show she was eating.”
Damian slowly turned toward Celeste.
Celeste shook her head.
“No.”
Elara reached into the pocket of her apron and took out a folded paper.
“I kept copies.”
Celeste stared at the paper like it was a snake.
Damian did not take it yet.
“What else?” he asked.
Elara inhaled.
“The wheelchair brake was loosened last week.”
Helena closed her eyes.
“And yesterday,” Elara said, “Mrs. Ashcroft told me Celeste said there would be an accident tonight if she tried to speak to you.”
Celeste’s voice cracked.
“She is lying!”
“No,” Damian said.
He finally turned fully toward Celeste.
“You are.”
The two words stripped every layer of polish from her face.
Celeste looked to the crowd again. She searched for someone powerful enough to rescue her.
Then an elderly man in a navy suit stepped forward.
Sir Malcolm Reed, chairman of the Aurelia Children’s Trust.
His face was gray.
“Mr. Ashcroft,” he said, “there is something you need to know.”
Celeste’s eyes widened.
“Malcolm,” she warned.
But it was too late.
Sir Malcolm looked at Damian.
“Mrs. Ashcroft was not the only person Celeste intended to remove tonight.”
Damian went still.
“Who else?”
May you like
Sir Malcolm swallowed.
“You.”
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