Chapter 4 - The Blood on the White Silk
The ventilation duct was a labyrinth of sheet metal and sharp aluminum rivets that tore through the thin silk of my slip, leaving long, bloody scratches across my stomach and thighs. But I didn't feel the pain. The air inside the vent was warmer than the freezer, a suffocating, dusty heat that made my lungs burn as I dragged myself forward inch by inch.
I followed the distant sound of violin music and the low, collective hum of two hundred voices. The grand ballroom was directly below me.
I crawled until I reached a wide, rectangular grate that looked down into the bridal suite on the fourth floor. The room was beautiful—lined with pale pink roses, crystal mirrors, and a velvet sofa where my new white dress was supposed to be waiting.
But the dress wasn't on the sofa.
Vanessa was standing in front of the full-length mirror, her silver dress discarded on the floor. She was wearing my wedding gown. The white silk fitted her perfectly, the diamond-encrusted bodice catching the light of the chandelier. She was holding a red lipstick, painting her mouth with a slow, precise stroke that looked like a warrior preparing for battle.
Ethan walked into the frame from the bathroom, his tuxedo jacket off, his white shirt stained with a small smear of black grease near the shoulder.
"The police just arrived at the back entrance," Ethan said, his voice tight, his eyes darting toward the door. "Marcus handled the security footage. The kitchen cameras are completely looped for the next two hours. As far as the world knows, Chloe went missing from the bridal suite at three o'clock."
Vanessa turned around, her lips curving into a brilliant, terrifying smile. "And where did she go, Ethan?"
"She left a note," Ethan said, pulling a crumpled piece of cream stationery from his pocket. He laid it flat on the vanity table. "A suicide note. She couldn't handle the pressure of the campaign. She took her own life in the harbor. By the time they find her body in the freezer next week, the narrative will already be set. You'll be the grieving campaign manager who stepped in to help the broken widower cross the finish line."
Vanessa walked over to him, her white silk skirt rustling against his trousers. She reached up, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "You're a brilliant man, Senator Miller. That’s why I chose you."
"We need to get downstairs," Ethan said, his voice dropping into a desperate whisper as he pressed his forehead against hers. "The guests are getting restless. If we don't start the ceremony soon, people will start asking why the bride hasn't left her room."
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Above them, behind the aluminum grate, I clutched the iron crowbar until my knuckles turned white. My blood was dripping onto the dusty sheet metal, a slow, steady tap-tap-tap that was completely drowned out by the violin music below.
They hadn't just tried to kill me. They were planning to steal my life, my name, and my dignity, turning my murder into a political stepping stone for a campaign built on my grave.
