Arianne
I'd give it a few minutes before I succumbed to the oncoming suffocation as I feel the tightness along my ribs becoming unbearably close to choking the air out of me. I clutched the glass in my hand so tightly, I'm afraid that it would shatter in my palm.
Leaning against the open bar, I place my hand on my stomach, my eyes closing firmly as I try to take in deep breaths and whisper a prayer to the universe, pleading to not let this dress kill me before the absolute mortification of hosting this charity gala did.
The deep emerald silk dress is truly a masterpiece in its own right, clinging to my frame in a way that showcased my lithe upper body and the wide curve of my hips, before fanning out into a delicate pool on the floor.
I might appreciate it a little bit more if it isn't actively trying its hardest to kill me.
"Ah there you are, Miss Saint-Clair. I was wondering where our stunning hostess had gone off to." A familiar voice quips from behind me and I grit my teeth and my eyes slam open.
I plaster a smile on my face and turn. The man before me has his usual smug grin split across his face, his charcoal grey tux, a little over sized on his hunching frame.
"Mr. Van Hurst, I'm so glad you could make it." I say with false cheer.
"I wouldn't miss seeing your darling face one more time," He winks and gestures around the room. "Especially before all this comes crashing down on your pretentious family." He laughs and takes a swig of the amber liquid in his glass and I stiffen, a sudden anger overtakes me.
For a moment, I imagine reaching out and forcefully slam the tumbler glass into his face as he takes a drink, and watch in glee as it cuts into his sagging skin and he sputters and chokes on blood and broken glass.
Instead, I settle for a tight smile. "Now Henry, even you know that whatever becomes of my, we always end up rising to the top once more. This isn't the first hurdle we've faced, so I wouldn't be so smug." It is quite the thrill to watch his self-satisfied smile freeze as I take a step closer to him, my smile turning dark.
"If I were you, I would take some time to figure out who my friends are before I come here to gloat. I doubt a man your age would be able to withstand it when we come for you." By the time I'm done speaking, his smile is completely gone and I relish in it.
"If you're so confident, why are you here alone trying to save your sinking ship of your family? Where is the great Conrad Sin-Clair?" He retorts and I stiffen at the truth in his words.
He is a head shorter than me, which gives me a full view of the shinning bald spot on his head but unfortunately gives him a direct line of sight of my cleavage, which due to the murder dress, is on ample display.
"I can't wait to see you all crash and burn." He seethes before walking away.
I release a breath I do not realize I am holding and take a look across the room. Wealthy aristocrats mill about in their finery, clinking glasses and laughing amongst themselves, no doubt in anticipation to witness the demise of the Saint-Clair dynasty.
Henry wasn't wrong, we were barely holding on as a family and as a business. This charity gala is the last attempt of trying to rehabilitate the Saint-Clair image, otherwise we would be ruined.
I tight coil of anxiety pulled taut in my stomach and I carefully placed the glass down as my hands begin to shake. I take in deep breaths to steady myself just as I get the cue that it is time for my big speech.
I turn and grab my drink and throw it back, it burns down my throat and I steel my nerves and move. My stride is confident and sure as the crowd parts for me to reach the raised platform at the front of the room.
I smile and nod as I pass them, noting the lingering stares of men and some women and I grin as I recall the conversation I had earlier this evening with my best friend, Jordan, as he helped wrestle me into this dress.
"Cleavage and a slit seems like overkill, no?" I had asked in between breaths as he tightened the corset.
"Your family is barely an inch away from crumbling and you need to rake in some new investors and partners," He pulled a little too tightly and I let out a pained grunt.
"While you do have a mind of an undefeated master warlord strategist, you also have the face of a goddess and a body to match. Use those killer Saint-Clair genes to your advantage, you'll need all the help you can get tonight. And then you go home with some handsome CEO or a hot heiress afterwards to relive some stress."
I'm pleased to see he was right as I notice the lingering stares thrown in my direction. I catch the eye the wife of the foreign Governor my father has been eyeing for an investment, making sure to approach them later, I climb the stage.
The hall quiets down as I take the microphone, my heart hammering against my chest as I smile at the crowd.
"Good evening everyone, I'm so glad at the massive turnout today. It means more to me than you can ever know that you all took time out of your busy schedules to be here, raising money for underfunded schools in the country," I pause as my eyes catch on a figure that just entered the hall, I see a flash of perfectly styled reddish-gold hair and I have to catch myself before I glare and curse into the mic.
"I am sure by now, you would have all seen the lies the tabloids have printed about my family and I can assure you that…" I am cut short by a sudden clamouring at the back.
A sharp clatter cuts through the heaviness in the room. At first it sounds like a tray dropping its contents. Then it happens again, louder, followed by the heavy slam of the double doors at the back bursting open.
People turn, voices rise and I freeze.
A group of men and women pour into the room and I know instantly that they are not guests, nor are they security. They have badges out, cameras raised, and they move with a certain air of purpose. Reporters. Investigators. A pit yawns open in my stomach.
And then, the shouting begins.
"Arianne, look this way!"
Another yells, "Miss Saint-Clair, is your father aware he's being charged?"
A third, "Where's Conrad Saint-Clair? Is he in hiding?"
My heart slams against my ribs, the pit stretches wider.
"What…" I don't even finish. The crowd starts to buzz like a kicked hive and a figure emerges from the back and I feel my heart drop right into the awaiting pit.
My father steps forward as if he could block the chaos with his body. "This is a private event. You have no…"
"You're under investigation for financial fraud and embezzlement, Mr. Saint-Clair," one of the agents cuts in, his voice ringing out through the room.
"Step aside. Now." I manage to growl.
Gasps ripple through the hall. Cameras flash so hard the light sting my eyes.
I grip the podium. "There has to be a mistake."
A reporter shoves closer. "Miss Saint-Clair, did you know about the offshore accounts? Sources say your father's been using charity funds to cover…"
"Stop talking about my family like that," I snap without thinking. My voice shakes. "You can't just come in here and…"
"Yes, we can," another agent says.
Thomas Hale, my father's best friend, reaches me first. "Arianne, come down," he whispers, tugging at my wrist. "Come down, now."
"What's happening?" My throat tightens around the words. "Tell me what's happening."
He doesn't answer. He keeps pulling.
My father tries again to speak over them, but three agents surround him. "Conrad Saint-Clair, you need to come with us."
"No," I say. It comes out too soft at first. "No, you can't take him like this. You can't do this in public."
A reporter lifts her camera higher. "Miss Saint-Clair, did you participate in falsifying any documents for your father? Do you handle any of the charity accounts?"
"What? No!" My voice rises higher than I want. "I don't do anything like that, I don't…"
"Are you claiming ignorance?" she presses.
"I'm claiming I have nothing to do with this!"
Flashes explode in my face. The room feels like its shrinking, all bodies pressing in, all voices forcing themselves into my ears. Someone grabs my elbow, too tight.
I twist. "Do not touch me!"
"Miss Saint-Clair," a male reporter says, leaning in far too close, "will you be cooperating with the investigation or has your father instructed you to stay silent?"
"I said get away from me!"
"Arianne!" My father's voice cuts through everything. I turn just in time to see him being led toward the doors. "Go home. Don't say another word."
"Dad…"
"Do you understand?" His voice cold. "Go home."
I don't move. I can't.
Two reporters position themselves in front of me like they were claiming a prize.
"Did he confess to you privately?"
"Are you involved?"
"Is it true the company's been bleeding money for years?"
"Were you aware your father has been negotiating with the Kanes…"
"Huh?" The last one hits me like a slap. "What did you say?"
"The Kanes," the reporter repeats. "Did you know he approached them for a bailout? Were you supposed to marry into their family to…"
"That's enough," Thomas snaps. "Back away from her."
But they don't. They lean in harder.
"Is that why Xander Kane is here tonight?" someone shouts from the crowd. "Is this part of a deal?"
"What?" I whisper. "Xander is here?"
It comes to me then, the man I saw towering over everyone during my speech, hi copper-tinted head of hair…
I scan the room, but everything is a blur of lights and frantic movement. My ears ring. Someone shouts another question at me. Someone else accuses my family of destroying people. My father is disappearing through the doors, swallowed by authorities and cameras and strangers yelling my name like it belongs to them.
A cold realization punches through the panic.
This isn't a mistake. They had come prepared. They knew exactly when and where to hit us.
And they want me to watch.
"Ari, we have to leave," Thomas says flatly. "Please."
I step forward, but the crowd surges toward me again. Reporters thrust microphones at my face, clipping my chin, my shoulders, like I was a trapped animal.
"Say something!"
"Do you deny the allegations?"
"Where is the money, Arianne?"
"Is the Saint-Clair empire finished?"
"Is it true you're engaged to Xander Kane to secure a merger?"
"I'm not engaged to anyone," I snap. "Stop putting words in my mouth."
A hand caches my waist. I startle hard, jerking back.
"It's me," Thomas says quickly, trying to shield me with his body. "Keep your head down."
"I can't see…"
"You don't need to see. Just move."
More flashes. More yelling. My world cracking apart in real time.
And above all the noise, one question keeps circling in my mind like a curse,
Who set this up?
Who wanted this moment?
And why does the name Xander Kane echo louder than the rest?