Chapter 4 - Shadows on the Hardwood
The soft friction of silk against wood sounded deafening in the silent room, but Owen was too engrossed in his phone call with Clara’s father to notice. Backed into the corner near the headboard, Clara slipped out from beneath the bed frame, her movements calculated and precise. Her bare feet felt freezing against the dark wooden planks, but adrenaline masked any physical discomfort. Across the room, Owen’s back was turned as he paced near the window, while Evelyn sat leisurely on the velvet armchair, sipping her champagne and admiring the sparkling diamond ring on her own finger.
Clara knew she couldn't rush toward the door; the heavy oak panel was locked, and the key had been left on the outer console by the maid earlier that afternoon. Her only escape route was the adjoining private balcony, which connected to the guest suite next door—a suite currently occupied by her cousin Marcus, who had flown in from Chicago just that morning.
Lowering her posture to stay beneath the line of sight of the high windows, Clara crept toward the French doors. Her fingers trembled as she reached for the brass latch. It was sealed tight against the autumn chill, requiring a firm twist to disengage the heavy deadbolt. She turned it with millimeter precision, holding her breath as the internal mechanism made a soft, metallic click.
"Did you hear that?" Evelyn suddenly asked, setting her champagne flute down with a sharp clink. She turned her head directly toward the balcony entrance.
Clara froze, her hand still resting on the brass latch.
"Hear what?" Owen asked, pulling the phone away from his ear for a brief second. "Arthur is threatening to call the police if we don't let him up here. The old man is starting to catch on to our timeline."
"Ignore him," Evelyn snapped, standing up from the armchair with a swiftness that belied her age. She began walking toward the French doors, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the shadowed corners of the bridal suite. "I heard a click. Like a latch turning."
Clara didn't hesitate. She threw the balcony door open, slipping outside into the crisp evening air just as Evelyn pulled back the sheer lace curtains. The sudden rush of cold wind caught the layers of Clara’s white wedding gown, billowing the fabric out behind her like a sail.
"Over there!" Evelyn screamed, pointing a manicured finger toward the terrace railing. "She’s escaping to the west wing!"
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Owen dropped his phone, the device clattering loudly against the hardwood floor as both mother and daughter rushed through the open French doors in hot pursuit. Clara bolted across the stone balcony, her heels clicking frantically against the patio tiles as she searched for Marcus’s room.
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