Chapter 10 - Crimson Among White
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The Grand Ballroom at the St. Regis Hotel was a nauseating display of stolen wealth. Hundreds of gold chairs lined the room, surrounded by towering, cascading arrangements of rare white orchids and imported roses. A massive, ten-tier crystal champagne fountain bubbled near the stage, surrounded by Chicago’s elite socialites sipping vintage wine.
Richard stood near the floral arch at the front of the room, his phone glued to his ear, his face drained of all color. His normally smooth, sun-kissed skin looked sickly gray under the blinding glare of the crystal chandeliers. Savannah clung to his sleeve, her manicured nails digging into his jacket, her face twisted in an ugly grimace as she hissed at the hotel manager.
Then, the heavy mahogany double doors of the ballroom swung open.
I stepped into the room.
I didn't sneak in, nor did I hide in the shadows. I walked in with my head held high, my spine made of steel, the bold crimson fabric of my suit cutting through the sea of white and pastel dresses like a bloodstain on pure snow.
Every single conversation in the cavernous room died instantly. The string quartet stopped playing mid-note, the bow scraping awkwardly across the violin strings. A high-society matron in the front row gasped loudly, dropping her silver dessert spoon onto her china plate with a sharp clang.
"My God," someone whispered loudly near the entrance. "Is that Margaret Kensington? The wife who went to prison?"
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"Look at her... she doesn't look broken at all," another voice murmured.
I kept my eyes locked on Richard. As he turned and saw me, his phone slipped from his hand, clattering against the polished marble floor. His jaw went slack. The conqueror was gone, replaced by a terrified boy who suddenly realized the monster under his bed had just walked out into the light.
