Chapter 4 - The Poisoned GalaThe annual Park Meridian Charity Gala was the social event of the season in Chicago. The grand ballroom of the Drake Hotel was transformed into a winter wonderland, filled with crystal chandeliers, ice sculptures, and the city's most powerful politicians and business tycoons.
I was not supposed to be there. But Adrian had insisted.
"You will stand near the VIP lounge," he had commanded me that afternoon, handing me a simple black maid's uniform with a white apron. "You will carry a tray of champagne. And you will remain within ten feet of me at all times."
"Why?" I had asked. "You have fifty security guards there."
"They cannot stop the burning, Nadia," he had replied simply.
Now, I stood in the corner of the crowded ballroom, my hands shaking as I held the silver tray.
Across the room, Adrian stood under the massive crystal chandelier, surrounded by reporters and photographers. Victoria Vance was clinging tightly to his arm, her red dress trailing behind her like a pool of blood. She was smiling for the cameras, but Adrian's face was a mask of pure agony.
He was wearing his black gloves, but I could see the sweat beads forming on his forehead. Every time Victoria touched his arm, his shoulders tensed, his body flinching slightly as if he were being struck by an invisible whip.
Suddenly, a massive, arrogant-looking man stepped out of the VIP lounge. It was Marcus Webb, the head of security whom Adrian had threatened to call the night he found me asleep in his chair. Marcus looked drunk, his eyes red and his tie undone.
"Adrian!" Marcus shouted, his voice booming over the classical music. "The golden boy of Chicago! Still hiding behind your little gloves, I see!"
The ballroom fell into a tense silence. Adrian turned slowly, his eyes locking onto Marcus. "You are drunk, Marcus. Leave the premises."
"Or what?" Marcus sneered, taking a step toward him. "You'll fire me? You'll have your guards throw me out? I built thirty percent of your logistics division, Adrian! And you treat me like trash because I left a coffee cup on your desk? You're a freak! Everyone knows it! You can't even shake a man's hand!"
In a sudden, aggressive movement, Marcus lunged forward, grabbing Adrian's bare neck where his collar ended.
"Let's see how much you hate contact now!" Marcus roared.
Adrian didn't fight back. The moment Marcus's bare hand touched his skin, Adrian let out a choked, strangled cry. His eyes rolled back, his body convulsing as the extreme neurological pain flooded his system. He began to collapse toward the marble floor.
Victoria Vance screamed, stepping back to protect her dress. None of the security guards were close enough to intervene.
I didn't think. I dropped my silver tray, the champagne glasses shattering against the floor in a loud, sparkling explosion.
I sprinted across the ballroom, pushing past the wealthy socialites, and threw myself between Marcus and Adrian. I grabbed Marcus’s wrist, pulling his hand away from Adrian’s neck, and then I grabbed Adrian’s hand, my bare fingers interlocking with his.
The reaction was instantaneous.
The violent convulsions stopped. Adrian’s breathing, which had turned into a frantic, dying gasp, suddenly stabilized. He looked up at me, his dark eyes wide with a mixture of terror and absolute, life-saving relief.
"Get your hands off him!" Victoria Vance screamed, pushing me away.
But as the connection broke, Adrian stumbled, his face turning pale once more. The security guards finally arrived, tackling Marcus Webb to the floor.
Victoria grabbed Adrian’s arm, glaring at me with a hatred that could have killed. "You! You dirty cleaning girl! How dare you touch him!"
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But Adrian didn't look at Victoria. He didn't look at the crowd of reporters taking photos of the scandal.
His eyes were fixed solely on me, his bare hand still trembling where my fingers had just been.
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