Chapter 4 - The Groom's Dark Inheritance
The front bells of the boutique chimed with a crisp, cheerful sound that violently contrasted with the suffocating tension in the room.
"Tori? Darling, are you still in here arguing with the help?"
Julian Vance stepped through the glass double doors, impeccably tailored in a charcoal Tom Ford suit, his silver-rimmed glasses catching the boutique's soft lighting. He paused, noticing the pale, trembling look on Victoria's face and the imposing presence of the elderly seamstress standing beside the illuminated wedding gown.
Victoria scrambled to regain her composure, smoothing down the front of her white blazer with shaky fingers.
"Julian. You shouldn't be here. It's bad luck to see the bride in her gown before the ceremony," Victoria said, forcing a bright, brittle smile that didn't reach her eyes.
Julian chuckled, stepping further into the room. His eyes briefly flicked toward the mannequin, admiring the dark pearls and glowing blue LED lights.
"Luck is for people who don't own the casino, Tori," Julian said smoothly. He turned his attention to Martha, giving her a polite, dismissive nod. "Thank you for looking after her, ma'am. The Sterling family appreciates your discretion regarding the... unique specifications of this dress."
Martha tilted her head slightly. The blue LED lights in her eyes brightened, casting an eerie azure glow across Julian's polished shoes.
"Discretion has a price, Mr. Vance," Martha said, her voice devoid of any warmth. "Just ask your grandfather, who signed off on the liability waivers for the Leviathan project before he transferred his stock to your father."
Julian’s smile vanished instantly. The easy, arrogant charm drained from his face, replaced by a cold, calculating stare that mirrored Victoria's own worst traits. He stepped between Victoria and the seamstress, instinctively shielding his fiancee while glaring at the old woman.
"You need to watch your tongue," Julian warned, his voice dropping into a dangerous register. "People who talk too much about closed historical matters tend to have accidents. Even in high-end bridal shops."
Martha let out a low, mechanical chuckle that sounded like grinding gears beneath deep ocean pressure.
"Accidents are my specialty, Julian. After all, I built the life support systems your family sabotaged," Martha said, tapping her temple. "Shall I play the audio file of your grandfather's congratulatory call to my husband right now?"
May you like
Julian's hand twitched toward his inner coat pocket, his expression turning murderous.
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