"The plot thickens," Garrick drawled, a low chuckle slipping from him as his gaze flicked toward the blonde at Marcus's side. "He does have good taste."
I stiffened. "Shut up,"
"We should head inside," he added, already pulling me forward.
My steps faltered, uneven against his pace. From the outside, it might have passed as something else. People would think he was simply being possessive, protective even.
But Marcus saw it.
The way his gaze dropped immediately to Garrick's hand on my arm, the way my body lagged half a step behind, like I was being dragged rather than led.
Something in his expression shifted. Hardened.
Even Uncle Alan's brows drew together, his attention sharpening as we approached.
Garrick didn't even slow.
"Don't forget your end of the deal," he said under his breath as we passed, throwing Marcus a brief, knowing look. Almost a wink.
My stomach twisted.
The realization hit me a second too late, making the twisting tighter in my stomach.
This wasn't just any event.
Garrick's family had hosted the gala, their name stamped all over it in quiet, undeniable authority. They were the benefactors, the ones who had donated yet another collection fo their family's artifacts to the Great North Museum.
My gaze flickered across the room before landing on Marcus, who had taken his seat several rows behind next to Uncle Alan. He nodded his head at me as if to say that everything was going to be alright.
I simply turned back to the front, my hands clutching at the skirt of my dress before my eyes landed on Victoria.
She stood not far from the stage, poised and composed. Every bit the curator.
Garrick didn't give me time to think.
His hand tightened around my arm as he pulled me toward one of the tables positioned at the very front, facing the stage, directly under the brightest lights.
Exactly where everyone could see us.
He leaned in, his breath brushing against my ear.
I stiffened.
"One wrong move," he murmured, voice low enough for only me to hear, "and I won't hesitate to bring you down with me."
A chill ran down my spine.
Before I could respond, the lights dimmed.
A hush fell over the room, the low hum of conversation fading into silence as all attention shifted toward the stage.
Victoria stepped into the stage, moving with quiet confidence and right underneath the spotlight. The soft blue gown catching the light as she approached the podium, offering a composed smile to the crowd.
"Good evening, everyone," she began, her voice clear, carrying effortlessly across the hall. "My name is Victoria Bennett, one of the curators here at the Great North Museum."
A polite round of applause followed.
"It is my great honor tonight to extend our deepest gratitude to the Cavendish family, particularly to Lord Garrick Cavendish, for their continued generosity and support."
Another wave of applause rippled through the room.
Victoria inclined her head graciously before continuing. "The artifacts donated this evening are not merely objects of the past. They are fragments of lives once lived. Stories preserved in metal, stone and time itself."
Her gaze swept across the audience, thoughtful, before landing on the man I knew, sitting rows behind me.
"History is not distant," she said. "It is not something buried and forgotten. It lives through what we choose to remember...and what we choose to protect."
A pause.
"In preserving these pieces, we do more than honor the past. We give it a voice in the present, and a place in the future."
The room stilled, attentive.
"And tonight," she finished softly, "we are reminded that even the smallest relic can carry the weight of an entire world."
Applause rose again, louder this time.
Beside me, Garrick straightened, satisfied.
When Victoria gestured toward him, inviting him onto the stage, he rose with ease, buttoning his jacket as he leaned in just slightly. "Don't do anything foolish," he murmured.
Then he stepped away, drawing the room's attention with him as he made his way toward the stage.
My pulse quickened as I waited, a plan forming inside my mind.
I waited just long enough not to attract attention before pushing my chair back carefully, keeping my movements controlled, unhurried. Like I was nothing more than another guest stepping away for a brief moment.
No one stopped me.
Even with the stage lights on him, I could still feel Garrick's gaze lingering, watchful. But he wouldn't do anything reckless. Not here, not when he was supposed to represent his family, and every eye in the room was on him.
Not yet, anyway.
I moved through the room, weaving between tables, my heart pounding louder with every step as I made my way toward the corridor marked Restrooms. The distance felt longer than it should have, every second stretching thin with anticipation.
I was almost there.
"Miss."
The voice came from my side, sharp enough to halt me mid-step.
A man stepped into my path. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a suit that tried too hard to appear ordinary.
"Where are you heading?" he asked.
My stomach sank.
He was wearing a suit, nearly identical to all the male guests here. Except, he had an earpiece. Private security.
Of course.
"I just need the restroom," I said, forcing a small, tight smile as I gestured toward the door just behind him.
He studied me for a moment, his gaze lingering just long enough to make my skin prickle.
Then, finally, he stepped aside.
"Make it quick."
I didn't hesitate. The moment there was space, I slipped past him and pushed through the door, the quiet click of it shutting behind me sounding far louder than it should have.
The noise from the gala dulled instantly.
Inside, it was cold. Bright and empty.
I was alone.
I moved straight to the sink, gripping the edges of the marble for a brief second before turning on the tap. Water rushed over my hands, cool and grounding, though it did little to steady the tremor running through them.
Then I looked up, seeing my reflection staring back at me. Pale, strained, barely holding together beneath all the make-up Josephine had tried layering on me.
Suddenly, the door creaked open.
The sound slicing through the silence, sharp and immediate.
My heart lurched as I lifted my head, fear clogging up my throat.
"Elena."
His voice, low and certain.
Familiar.
Marcus.