Chapter 10
Arthur’s polished facade slipped for only a moment before he smoothed his expression back into one of concerned paternal warmth. He walked to the foot of the stairs, spreading his hands in a welcoming gesture as Clara and Julian reached the lower landing.
"Clara, darling, what are you doing down here before the ceremony?" Arthur asked, his voice carrying smoothly across the semi-silent hall, designed to project authority and fatherly affection to the surrounding guests. "The string quartet is about to cue the processional. Let's get you back upstairs before the photographer has a fit."
Clara stopped on the third step from the bottom, looking down at her father. The man who had raised her, who had protected her through childhood, now looked like a stranger—a stranger wearing a mask of polite deception.
"We need to talk, Arthur," Clara said, omitting the word 'Father' entirely. Her voice cut cleanly through the murmur of the hall.
Arthur’s smile thinned, a shadow of cold calculation crossing his eyes before he masked it once more with a chuckle. "Now isn't the time for pre-wedding jitters, sweetheart. Save it for the altar or our toast later." He reached out to take her arm, stepping onto the first riser.
Julian immediately stepped forward, placing himself between Arthur and Clara with quiet, unyielding authority. "Don't touch her," Julian said, his voice low and dangerous.
The guests nearby fell completely silent, sensing the sudden shift in atmosphere. Heads turned, and whispers began to ripple through the front rows of the assembly. Arthur’s face flushed slightly with anger, his eyes narrowing as he glared at Julian.
"Julian, step aside. This is a family matter," Arthur hissed, his smooth composure fraying at the edges.
May you like
"It's a police matter," Clara said loudly, her voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings of the grand hall. She raised her left hand, opening her palm to reveal the vintage gold locket. "Three years ago, you didn't just lose a wife. You murdered her on the staircase, and I helped you cover it up."
The silence that followed was absolute. A crystal champagne flute slipped from a guest's fingers somewhere in the back, shattering loudly against the marble floor, but nobody looked away from the staircase.
