Chapter 3 - The Empty Chair
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The reception was held at the Marshall estate, a limestone mansion perched above a black stretch of ocean.
The ballroom had been prepared for a lavish celebration. Five tiers of white-and-gold cake stood beneath a glittering chandelier. A jazz band waited nervously beside an empty dance floor. A place card bearing Camilla’s name had been removed from the head table, leaving a wide, glaring blank space beside Devan.
The emptiness was worse than the card would have been.
Guests filled the room because Devan had ordered them to, but no one approached his table. Members of the Rossi family gathered near the eastern doors, whispering furiously. Marshall soldiers stood by the bar, watching them with hands resting near the inside of their jackets.
Naya moved among the tables, quietly collecting abandoned glasses.
From a distance, Devan appeared completely untouched. His tuxedo remained perfect. His shoulders stayed square. His face gave away nothing as he held a glass of scotch he never drank.
But up close, Naya saw the truth.
His knuckles were white, gripping the glass with bone-crushing force. His jaw trembled just once when Camilla’s cousin laughed too loudly across the ballroom. His eyes closed for a fraction of a second.
That was all.
But Naya recognized the expression. It was the face of someone enduring the unbearable in public, refusing to let the wolves see him bleed.
“Walker.”
Her manager abruptly shoved a fresh bottle of expensive scotch into her hands, startling her.
“Head table. Refill his glass.”
“He hasn’t touched the first one,” Naya pointed out quietly.
“Then put the bottle down and leave. Do not speak. Do not make eye contact. Do not do anything that gives him a reason to remember your name.”
Naya looked at Devan sitting alone beneath six hundred pairs of hostile eyes.
“I don’t think he needs another drink.”
Her manager’s face reddened with anger. “I don’t care what you think.”
May you like
“Clearly.”
“Go.”
