Chapter 2 - THE REFLECTION IN THE GLASS
Sophia stared at the photograph in the woman’s hand. The image burned itself into her retinas.
Adrian. Alive. Standing next to her father on the night his entire family was slaughtered. And he was smiling.
A heavy, suffocating silence pressed down on the ballroom. Hundreds of guests held their breath, waiting for the explosion. The four men in black suits who had just entered stood by the heavy oak doors, their hands resting ominously inside their jackets.
Adrian did not look at the men. He didn’t look at the crowd. He looked only at Sophia.
“Look closer at the photograph, Sophia,” Adrian said, his voice dangerously low, cutting through the murmurs of the crowd like a blade.
“I am looking at it,” she whispered, her hands trembling so violently that her diamond bracelet clattered against her wrist. “You were with him. You helped him kill your own family.”
The woman in the black gown—the woman who wore the same ring as Sophia—let out a sharp, cruel laugh. “He didn’t just help, sweetheart. He orchestrated it. He traded his parents’ lives for a seat at your father’s table. And now he’s married you to steal the rest of the empire.”
Sophia took a step back, her high heel catching on the hem of her intricate lace gown. She wanted to run. She wanted to tear the veil from her hair and disappear into the night. But her eyes were drawn back to the photograph.
“Look at the reflection in the glass behind us,” Adrian commanded, stepping toward her. He completely ignored the woman holding the picture.
Sophia squinted at the glossy paper. Behind Adrian and her father, there was a dark window belonging to the estate. The flash of the camera had caught a faint, distorted reflection in the glass.
It was her father. He was holding a gun.
But he wasn’t aiming it at an enemy. He was aiming it at someone kneeling on the ground just outside the frame of the picture.
Sophia’s breath caught in her throat. The kneeling figure was small. Fragile. It was a girl in a white nightgown.
It was her.
“He wasn’t smiling because we were allies, Sophia,” Adrian whispered, stepping so close she could smell the cedar and gunpowder clinging to his tuxedo. “He had a gun to your head. I was smiling because I had just slid my finger onto the trigger of my own weapon. I was smiling because I was one second away from putting a bullet between your father’s eyes to save your life.”
Sophia’s mind violently rejected the information. “My father loves me. He would never—”
“Your father is a monster who erased your past to protect his future,” Adrian interrupted fiercely.
Before Sophia could process the revelation, the woman in black snapped her fingers. “Enough of this pathetic lie. Take him.”
The four men in suits moved. They didn't walk; they surged forward with terrifying, synchronized speed.
Adrian didn’t hesitate. He reached beneath his tailored jacket, drew a sleek silver handgun, and fired two deafening shots into the massive crystal chandelier hanging directly above the center of the dance floor.
Sparks rained down like fireworks. The heavy chain snapped. The massive fixture crashed to the marble floor with a catastrophic, earth-shaking boom, sending thousands of glass shards flying like shrapnel.
The ballroom erupted into pure chaos. Guests screamed, diving under tables.
Adrian grabbed Sophia’s waist with an iron grip. “Run!”
He dragged her through the panicked crowd, pulling her toward the kitchen doors. Sophia stumbled, her heavy silk dress dragging her down, but Adrian’s grip never faltered. He fired two more shots over his shoulder, forcing the pursuing men to dive behind a catering table.
They burst through the swinging kitchen doors, past terrified chefs, and out into the cool, damp air of the service alley. A sleek, armored black SUV was already idling in the shadows, the back door hanging open.
“Get in!” Adrian ordered, practically throwing her into the leather backseat before diving in after her. “Drive!” he barked to the driver.
The SUV tires shrieked against the asphalt, tearing out of the alley just as the kitchen doors burst open behind them.
Sophia collapsed against the leather seats, gasping for air, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She looked at the man she had just sworn her life to. The man who had just shot up their wedding.
“Who were those men?” Sophia choked out, pulling her torn veil from her hair.
“They are the High Commission,” Adrian said, his chest heaving as he ejected the spent magazine from his gun and slammed a fresh one into the grip. “The ruling council of the syndicate. And the woman on the stage is Elena. She’s not my mistress, Sophia. She’s my sister.”
Sophia froze. “Your sister? She said you gave her that ring!”
“It was our mother’s ring,” Adrian said coldly. “I gave it to her the night our parents were murdered. To keep it safe. She betrayed me. She went to the Commission and told them I was planning a coup against your father. She wants the throne for herself.”
Sophia pressed her hands to her temples. Her perfect reality was shattering into millions of jagged pieces. “You said my father had a gun to my head. Why? Why would he want to kill his own daughter?”
Adrian looked at her, his dark eyes filled with a sorrow that terrified her more than the gunfire.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a heavy, tarnished silver key. It looked ancient, covered in intricate, twisting engravings. He placed it gently into her trembling palm.
“He didn't want to kill you, Sophia,” Adrian said softly. “He wanted to kill what you were carrying.”
May you like
“What I was carrying?” she whispered.
Adrian looked out the tinted window as the city skyline blurred past them. “We aren’t going to the penthouse. We’re going to the one place your father swore he burned to the ground six years ago. It’s time you remembered what happened at that hospital.”
