Chapter 7 - The Panic in the Pavilion
The noise of the ballroom washed over me as I stepped back inside the crystal-lit hall, but the festive warmth was gone, replaced by a suffocating weight of dread.
I scanned the crowd frantically. The string quartet was still playing near the southern alcove, guests were sipping champagne and laughing, and waitstaff moved smoothly between tables.
Then I spotted Julian.
He was standing near the dessert pavilion, holding a small plate with a single strawberry while Emma chattered happily beside him, her dark curls bouncing as she pointed excitedly at a chocolate-dipped marshmallow.
My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. I hurried across the marble floor, weaving past groups of laughing wedding guests until I reached them.
"Evelyn," Julian said, his eyes softening as he looked down at me. Then he caught the rigid set of my jaw and the pale strain around my mouth. His expression shifted instantly into a hard, protective mask. "What is it?"
"We need to leave," I whispered, stepping close to him so the surrounding guests couldn't hear. "Right now."
Julian didn't ask questions. He immediately set the plate down, knelt, and scooped Emma up into his arms, pulling her securely against his chest. "Security detail," he muttered into the collar of his suit jacket where a discrete comm-pin sat flush against the fabric. "Bring the armored transport to the private service exit immediately. Code Amber."
"What's wrong, Mommy?" Emma asked, wrapping her tiny arms around my neck, picking up on the sudden tension in the air. "Are we going home?"
"Yes, sweetheart," I forced a warm, steady smile onto my face, gently kissing her cheek. "We're going home."
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As we turned toward the private service corridor leading away from the ballroom, a tall figure stepped out from behind a marble pillar, blocking our path with a slow, deliberate stride.
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