Chapter 7: The Empty Pavilion
The transition from the sunlit garden to the sprawling glass-walled reception pavilion was a blur of congratulatory handshakes, warm embraces, and flashing cameras. Guests mingled around the perimeter tables, sipping champagne and laughing as the string quartet transitioned into a lively jazz ensemble. Clara and Julian played their parts to perfection, moving gracefully from table to table, accepting well-wishes with practiced smiles. Yet, beneath the veneer of marital bliss, their senses remained on high alert, scanning the crowd for any sign of Marcus.
By the time the head table was seated for the main course, Marcus was nowhere to be found in the main hall. Julian excused himself from the table under the guise of greeting distant relatives near the bar, his eyes scanning the exits leading toward the main estate house. Clara watched him slip away, her heart hammering against her ribs. She knew what he was looking for. The brief respite of the ceremony had merely bought them time, but Marcus was not the kind of man to let a dramatic setup go unexploited without exacting a toll.
Just as the first toast was being announced by the best man, a sharp vibration hummed in the pocket of Clara's hidden dress lining. It was her cell phone. With subtle movements, keeping her posture upright and her smile intact for the surrounding guests, she slid her hand into her pocket and retrieved the small device. The screen lit up with an unknown number, accompanied by a single text message.
Check your suite.
Clara froze, the ambient noise of the banquet hall suddenly sounding distant and distorted. She looked across the room just in time to see Julian returning to the table, his face pale and tight. He caught her eye from across the floral centerpiece, giving a microscopic nod that confirmed the worst possible suspicion: Marcus had somehow bypassed the locked door, or worse, found another way into the bridal suite.
"Excuse me for just a moment," Clara said softly to the elderly aunt seated to her left, rising gracefully from her chair.
Julian met her near the wide staircase leading up to the second-floor suites. He didn't wait for her to speak; he grabbed her hand gently, his grip urgent and protective.
"He’s up there," Julian whispered, his breath shallow. "One of the catering staff mentioned seeing a man matching Marcus’s description heading toward the north corridor with a master passkey ten minutes ago."
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"Did he open the wardrobe?" Clara asked, her voice dropping into a harsh, trembling whisper as they began to ascend the stairs away from the crowded ballroom.
"Worse," Julian said, his jaw locked as they reached the second-floor landing. "The ledger isn't just sitting in the wardrobe anymore. Marcus moved it."
