Chapter 2 - Ten Seconds to Midnight
Adrian didn't panic. Panic was a luxury for people who hadn't built empires on blood, concrete, and unrecorded debt. With a fluid, terrifyingly calm motion, he reached out and caught the wrist of the fake server just as the man’s hand twitched toward the hidden latch of the silver dome.
"Nice watch," Adrian said, his voice a low, gravelly baritone that carried easily across the suddenly hushed perimeter of table nine. "Swiss movement. Expensive for a kitchen porter making minimum wage."
The fake server’s face drained of color. He tried to yank his arm back, but Adrian’s grip was a vice forged from years of street combat and boardroom intimidation. "Sir, I—I was just serving the—"
"You were about to drop a contact neurotoxin onto my poached salmon," Adrian interrupted smoothly, his eyes flashing with dark amusement.
Across the table, Vanessa’s composure fractured. The dazzling smile slipped, replaced by a flash of raw panic that she tried desperately to mask behind a widening of her diamond-encrusted fingers. "Adrian, what on earth is happening? Is this some kind of sick joke?" She turned her venomous gaze directly toward me. "This—this hired help is causing a scene! Security, get her out of here!"
Two massive men in custom black suits materialized from the shadows near the exit—real security, not the imposters lurking by the service elevator. But instead of moving toward me, Adrian raised his left hand, signaling them to halt.
"Wait," Adrian commanded softly. He finally turned his head to look at Vanessa. The candlelight caught the facets of the multi-carat engagement ring he had slipped onto her finger just a week prior—the very ring that was supposed to seal the merger between the Cross syndicate and the powerful Whitmore shipping dynasty. "You know, Vanessa, for a woman who spent three months convincing me she didn't know a thing about underworld contract killers, you recognized the code word trap awful fast."
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Vanessa’s breath hitched. She pushed her chair back, the legs scraping loudly against the polished mahogany floor. "You're losing your mind. I'm leaving."
"Nobody leaves," Adrian said, his tone dropping from polite conversation to an absolute, bone-chilling decree. He stood up slowly, towering over the table. He turned his head toward me, his dark eyes studying my face for the first time with genuine curiosity. "And as for you... Miss Bennett, isn't it? You just saved my life. The question is: why?"
