Chapter 4 - The Poisoned Cup
The night of the winter gala arrived with a blinding snowstorm that blanketed the Westchester estate in a thick layer of white silence. Inside, however, the grand ballroom was a riot of color, music, and wealth. Chandeliers glittered, and hundreds of elite guests mingled in designer tuxedos and glittering jewels.
Elena was stationed near the service corridor, wearing her plain black uniform, tasked with ensuring the silver champagne trays remained fully stocked. Her heart beat anxiously against her ribs; the grandiosity of the room always made her feel small and invisible.
From across the ballroom, Luca stood talking with a group of international delegates, but his eyes kept drifting toward the service entrance, making sure Elena was safe.
Near the buffet table, Isabella stood talking with a group of socialites, holding a crystal flute of sparkling water. Her face was calm, but her eyes were fixed coldly on Elena across the room.
Camilla Vance, Isabella’s cousin, leaned in close. "Are you really going to let that little nobody get away with humiliating you, Izzy? Luca practically threatened to cancel your wedding over her."
Isabella took a slow sip of her water, a wicked, calculated smile touching her lips. "I don't let anyone humiliate me, Camilla. And I certainly don't lose to maids."
Camilla’s eyes widened slightly. "What did you do?"
"Nothing dirty," Isabella murmured smoothly, nodding toward a tray of specialized herbal tea resting on the side station—a special brew Elena had prepared for her own throat, as she was fighting a severe winter cold. "Just a little lesson in humility. Let’s see how fast the great Luca Moretti defends his precious housekeeper when she collapses in front of five hundred high-society witnesses."
Without waiting for Camilla to reply, Isabella slipped away toward the side corridor while the attention of the room was consumed by a string quartet performance.
Ten minutes later, Elena walked back into the service pantry to grab her thermos of herbal tea to soothe her raw throat. She poured the steaming liquid into her favorite mug, took a large, grateful swallow, and immediately froze.
A bitter, metallic, burning taste coated her tongue.
Elena coughed, dropping the mug onto the tile floor, where it shattered into a hundred pieces. Her throat constricted violently, closing up as if gripped by an invisible iron fist. She clawed at her neck, gasping for air, but her lungs refused to draw oxygen.
She stumbled out toward the edge of the ballroom, her vision blurring into black spots, before her knees gave out entirely.
May you like
Crash.
Elena collapsed hard onto the polished marble floor near the edge of the dance floor, clutching her throat, suffocating in plain sight of the wealthiest people in New York.
