Chapter 3: Blood on the Ballroom Floor

As Christmas approached, the family held a grand dinner. All the relatives and important guests gathered.

The house sparkled with lights and laughter. For a moment, I almost felt like I belonged.

Unfortunately, Preston and Charlotte were there too.

Their presence cast a shadow over the festivities. I braced myself for awkwardness.

Even worse, they were seated directly across from Harrison and me.

I could feel the tension radiating from Harrison, his gaze locked on Charlotte.

Charlotte was as elegant and graceful as ever. Like a fairy, untouched by the world, amid the holiday splendor.

She glowed in the candlelight, every movement effortless.

She sat there, uneasy, not knowing where to look—probably because both Harrison and I were staring at her.

Her cheeks flushed. She fidgeted with her napkin. I almost felt sorry for her.

So, she picked up a cherry with her delicate hand and fed it to Preston.

The gesture was intimate, a silent declaration. Preston beamed, basking in her attention.

Harrison nudged me with his elbow, hinting that I should feed him something too.

He was acting like a petulant kid. Desperate to prove something.

So childish.

I rolled my eyes, but played along. Two can play this game.

Fine. Two can play this game.

I figured I should give him something to do, so he’d stop bothering his brother and sister-in-law with his stares.

If nothing else, it would distract him from sulking.

So, I picked up a jalapeño from the relish tray and fed it to him.

I tried to keep a straight face as I held it out. He took it without looking, too focused on Charlotte.

He chewed it without suspecting a thing, then froze.

His face turned red, eyes watering. I bit my lip to keep from laughing.

His glare was full of venom. Like he wanted to turn me into a pincushion.

He mouthed something under his breath—probably not fit for polite company.

“Just you wait…”

He hissed the words, barely loud enough for me to hear.

I gently pressed his restless hand and whispered, “Harrison, drink some water.”

I kept my tone sweet, enjoying the rare chance to get one over on him.

Harrison nearly keeled over from anger, shooting me death glares before making an excuse to leave the table.

He stormed off, muttering curses. I watched him go. Fought a smile.

Not long after Harrison left, a new group of dancers came to perform.

The music swelled, and the dancers spun across the floor in a blur of color.

But in the middle of the dance, one of them suddenly pulled a knife from her sleeve. Lunged at Mr. Whitmore.

Time seemed to slow. I barely registered the scream before chaos erupted.

“Call 911! Protect Mr. Whitmore!” someone shouted, and pandemonium broke out in the hall.

People dove for cover, plates crashed to the floor, and the security team sprang into action.

I slipped into a corner and hid.

Old instincts kicked in. I made myself small. Invisible. Waiting for the danger to pass.

Mr. and Mrs. Whitmore were quickly shielded by security. The attackers, failing to hurt their target, grabbed Charlotte as a hostage. Preston, fists clenched, couldn’t make a move.

Charlotte struggled, but the attacker held her fast. No way out.

The attacker leaped onto the balcony with Charlotte and fled.

I watched, heart pounding, as they vanished into the night.

Just as I thought it was over, I was suddenly grabbed by another attacker and knocked out with a blow to the head.

Pain exploded behind my eyes, and everything went black.

When I came to, Charlotte and I were tied up together, blades pressed to our throats.

The air was thick with fear. I forced myself to stay calm, searching for a way out.

Struggling was useless. I whispered, “What’s going on?”

My voice was barely audible, but Charlotte heard me.

Charlotte’s voice trembled, but she forced herself to answer, “I’m sorry. I got you involved.”

She sounded on the verge of tears. I squeezed her hand, offering what comfort I could.

…

She said something, but it was like saying nothing at all.

Her apology meant little—neither of us had chosen this.

The attacker holding a knife to my neck seemed to be negotiating with Harrison. I saw him standing not far away, face cold and stern, his eyes fixed on Charlotte.

He looked every bit the hero, but his gaze never flickered my way.

“If you open the gates and let us go, I’ll release one of them.”

His voice was rough, desperate. I could tell he was running out of options.

This guy was a fool.

He didn’t realize who he was dealing with. Harrison always played to win.

Harrison would never let them all escape—he needed to keep one to trace back to whoever was behind it all.

He was calculating, always thinking three steps ahead.

So, at most, only one of us could be freed…

I braced myself, already knowing what would happen.

“Release Charlotte,” he answered almost instantly.

His decision was swift, merciless. I tried not to let it sting.

Just as I expected.

I’d learned not to hope for rescue. It made disappointment easier to bear.

At his words, Charlotte tensed beside me, turning away in shame.

Her shoulders shook. I squeezed her hand again, letting her know it wasn’t her fault.

The attacker kept his word. Untied Charlotte. I watched her go.

The one holding her and the one holding me exchanged glances, then tossed out a rope and made their escape.

They moved quickly, fading into the shadows. I stayed still, waiting for my moment.

Now, only the last attacker and I remained.

The guards behind Harrison raised their guns, aimed right at me.

My heart raced, but I kept my expression blank. I’d faced worse odds before.

The attacker realized Harrison wasn’t planning to save me. He sneered. “Well, looks like you and I are heading to the afterlife together, Mrs. Whitmore.”

His breath was hot on my neck. I glared at him, refusing to show fear.

“Who would’ve thought the rumors were true—the heir’s heart belongs to his sister-in-law. Hahaha…”

His laughter was manic, echoing through the empty hall. I tuned it out, focusing on the knife in his hand.

He laughed maniacally. Harrison’s face grew even darker.

Harrison’s jaw clenched, fists trembling at his sides.

“You’re wrong,” I said. “I’m not dying with you.”

My voice was steady, cold as steel.

The attacker froze. Turned to look at me.

He hesitated, just long enough for me to act.

I slipped one hand from behind, grabbed his knife, and with the other, slashed his forearm with my pocketknife.

Blood spurted, hot and sticky. He howled. Dropped his weapon.

“There’s no such thing as a fair trade. From the start, I knew no one would come for me.”

I spat the words, anger giving me strength.

So, I had to rely on myself.

It was the only lesson life had ever taught me.

While he was still reacting, I kicked his knife away. He drew a hidden blade from his sleeve, furious, and lunged at my face.

Time slowed. I braced for the worst.

I raised my bleeding hand to block, and just then, a bullet whizzed by, shattering his weapon and sending him sprawling.

The shot rang in my ears. Then the heavy thud of the attacker hitting the floor.

The guards swarmed in and subdued him.

They moved fast, pinning him to the ground. I slumped back, adrenaline fading.

Pinned to the ground, he kept ranting. “The Whitmores are doomed because of his disgraceful obsession. Silver Hollow will fall!”

His voice was wild, desperate. I ignored him, focusing on my breathing.

Then he turned his venomous gaze on me. “Maple Heights depends on Silver Hollow—soon you’ll…”

His words were cut short by my next move.

Before he could finish, I stabbed his hand with my pocketknife. “Shut up.”

The blade sank deep. He screamed. I felt nothing.

“Maple Heights is doing just fine.”

I spat the words, daring him to argue.

Blood poured from my left hand as I grabbed the attacker’s blade, leaving a long trail across the hardwood floor. Only now did I feel the pain.

It throbbed, sharp and insistent. I gritted my teeth. Refused to cry out.

Harrison, whom I’d completely forgotten, walked toward me with heavy steps.

His face was pale, eyes wide with something like fear.

For the first time, I saw fear on his face.

He looked at me as if seeing a ghost. I almost laughed.

He stared at me, throat working. After a long pause, he finally said, “I… I didn’t mean not to save you.”

His voice was raw, broken. I didn’t know what to say.

I tore a strip from my dress with my teeth, wrapped my hand, and replied flatly, “Well, thanks for that.”

My words were sharp, but I couldn’t help it. I was tired, bleeding, and done with games.

“No,” he said, reaching out as if to grab my wrist. But after seeing my injury, he just clung to my sleeve instead. “Can’t you be mad at me? Hit me, yell at me—anything.”

His desperation was real. For a moment, I almost gave in.

I forced a smile. “No need.”

I shook him off gently, not unkindly. I’d learned not to expect too much from anyone.

I never expected him to save me anyway.

It was easier that way. Hope was a dangerous thing.

I pulled free, picked up my pocketknife, and tucked it into my belt.

The familiar weight was comforting. I straightened my shoulders. Turned to leave.

Before leaving, I turned and said, “If you really feel guilty, Harrison, stop secretly investigating me. We’re married—if you have doubts, just ask.”

I let my words hang in the air. Walked away. Didn’t look back.

Soon, news of the Whitmore bride taking down an attacker with her bare hands spread through Silver Hollow. My name was on everyone’s lips.

The attention was overwhelming. I retreated to my room, grateful for the quiet.

It was already in the past for me.

I moved on quickly. Survival had taught me not to dwell.

But not for Harrison.

He lingered at the edges of my life, always watching, never speaking.

He’d been acting strange lately—sending people to check on me, making sure I had the best food and medicine, but avoiding me himself, never meeting me face-to-face.

His absence was almost more noticeable than his presence. I wondered what he was afraid of.

Maribel didn’t understand and asked me why.

She fussed over me, brow furrowed. I just shook my head.

I just smiled.

There was no point explaining. Some things you had to learn for yourself.

Why?

The question lingered, but I let it go.

Because he felt guilty, of course.

Guilt was a powerful motivator. But it didn’t change anything.