Chapter 2 - The Collapse
The glass of water slipped from Celeste’s fingers, shattering against the white-tiled floor of the private alcove with a sharp, violent crash that cut through the low murmur of the restaurant.
Ice cubes scattered across the floor like scattered teeth.
Celeste didn't bend down to pick them up. Her hands flew to her throat, her fingers clawing frantically at the collar of her emerald dress as if she were trying to tear open a cage. Her face, usually flushed with a flawless, expensive glow, had turned the color of wet chalk. A thin line of perspiration traced the sharp line of her jaw, and her breathing came in ragged, shallow gasps that rattled deep within her chest.
“Celeste?” Alexander asked, his voice deliberately level, masking the cold fury coiling in his gut. He remained seated across from her, his posture relaxed, watching the predator choke on her own venom.
“A-Alexander...” she choked out, her auburn hair sticking to her damp forehead. Her eyes were wide, bloodshot, and filled with a sudden, animal panic. “Something... something is wrong. I can’t—I can’t breathe.”
“Renaud!” Alexander’s voice cracked like a whip across the dining room, sharp enough to summon every manager and waiter within fifty yards.
Within seconds, the silver-haired head chef and the general manager rushed into the alcove, their faces pale with horror as they saw a guest collapsing.
“Mr. Sterling! What happened?” Renaud stammered, dropping to his knees beside Celeste’s chair.
“She’s having a reaction to something,” Alexander said smoothly, standing up and stepping back. “Call an ambulance immediately. Do not move her. And secure that dessert plate—every crumb of it. I want a toxicology screen run before the paramedics even clear the lobby.”
Celeste’s eyes snapped toward him, filled with a frantic, desperate realization. Through her blue lips, her voice came out as a weak, horrified rasp: “You... you switched... the plates...”
Alexander leaned down, his voice dropping into a quiet, lethal register that only she could hear.
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“The little girl was right, Celeste,” he whispered, his storm-gray eyes locking onto hers with terrifying clarity. “Two years of smiles. Two years of playing the devoted partner. And it all ended over a chocolate soufflé. You thought you were burying me tonight. Instead, you dug your own grave.”
Before she could reply, her eyes rolled back, and she slumped forward against the table, unconscious.
