Chapter 3
3.
Three days before the gala, I used the excuse of helping a friend scout wedding venues to contact the hotel's event sales manager, asking her to show us a different ballroom.
Under her guidance, we walked past the ballroom currently being set up.
Two golden high-backed chairs sat dead center on the stage. Above them, the glass dome let in light that spilled across the floor like a river of stars.
Those were the exclusive seats prepared for Melissa and Blake—the pair publicly packaged as the ultimate startup duo.
"This setup is insane," the friend who came with me muttered. "What kind of startup burns this kind of cash?"
"Yeah."
I said quietly.
A man walked in through the side doors.
Black dress shoes, a dark gray tailored suit, sharp haircut.
He was holding a tablet, confirming the lighting and seating arrangements with the staff.
It was Blake Morgan.
He looked younger than in his photos. Tall, broad-shouldered, radiating an arrogant kind of energy.
Meanwhile, I had spent the last few years revolving around my family and my kid, unknowingly putting on weight, a layer of softness gathering around my waist.
So this was what she meant.
"He can't even compare to you."
"Bring the lights up," Blake told the crew. "Melissa wants every angle crystal clear."
The crew member nodded.
"You got it, Mr. Morgan."
My friend lowered his voice.
"Who's that? Acts like he owns the place."
I didn't answer.
Blake turned around, his eyes sweeping over us.
After a half-second pause, he pasted on a professional smile.
"Can I help you gentlemen?"
"Just scouting wedding venues," my friend said. "Corporate event?"
"Ten-year anniversary gala."
Blake walked closer, his gaze lingering on my face for a fraction of a second longer than necessary.
"And you are?"
"Carter."
"Mr. Carter."
He nodded.
"It's a great venue, but we've bought out the space. I can recommend some other rooms if you'd like."
"No need."
I smiled.
"It's beautiful. Your wife put a lot of thought into this."
Blake's smile stiffened.
It was subtle, but I caught it.
"Arranged by our Chairman," he corrected smoothly. "I'm just executing her vision."
"Chairman? She single?"
I glanced at the stage.
"Two thrones center stage... I assumed it was for a married couple."
The air went dead silent for a few seconds.
Blake stared at me. A flash of scrutiny and caution crossed his eyes, followed by a poorly concealed glint of smugness.
"I wouldn't know about her personal life."
He looked away and turned back to the staff.
"I need to confirm the catering."
With that, he turned and walked away.
His dress shoes clicked sharply against the floor.
My friend nudged my arm.
"Why'd you ask that? That was weird."
"Just making conversation."
I pulled my gaze away.
"Let's check the other rooms."
We walked toward the elevators.
Just as the elevator doors were about to close, I looked back.
Blake was standing in the middle of the stage, looking down at his tablet.
The starlight from the dome fell over him, casting a fake halo around his shoulders.
He looked up, his eyes locking onto the elevator.
Right before the doors slid shut, our eyes met one last time.
He smiled.
It was the smile of a victor. A smile dripping with pity.
The elevator began to descend.
"You know him?" my friend asked.
"No."
I watched the floor numbers tick down.
"But I will."
That night, Melissa came home uncharacteristically early, looking agitated.
"What's wrong?"
I poured her a glass of water.
"Nothing. Minor hiccup at work. It's handled."
"Good."
I pushed the glass toward her.
"By the way, I swung by The Sterling today."
She froze.
"Why?"
"Scouting wedding venues with a friend. Saw them setting up The Observatory Ballroom. That's for your gala, right?"
"...Yeah."
"Two thrones on the stage. Bold choice."
I looked at her.
"Your idea?"
Melissa set her spoon down.
"The event agency pitched it. Don't overthink it."
"I'm not."
I smiled faintly.
"Just thought if we ever renew our vows, we could steal the layout."
Her expression softened slightly, and she reached out to grab my hand.
"Once we go public, we'll have the biggest wedding imaginable."
Another promise.
I squeezed her hand back.
Her palm was warm, but my fingertips were ice cold.
"Oh, right. I was cleaning the study yesterday. Saw some photos on your old laptop."
I kept my tone entirely casual.
"Company event, I think. There was a guy who looked familiar. Did he use to drop off documents here?"
Melissa's grip suddenly tightened.
"Which guy?"
"Tall. Curly hair. Looked sharp."
I blinked.
"Last name Morgan?"
Silence.
A long, heavy silence.
She let go of my hand, her tone shifting back to gentle.
"Blake. From administration. He's very capable. Why?"
"No reason."
I stood up to clear the dishes, turning my back to her.
"Just thought he looked familiar. Glad you have competent people around you. Puts my mind at ease."
She didn't say another word.
I carried the bowls into the kitchen and turned on the faucet.
The rushing water drowned out the sound of my accelerating heartbeat.
That night, Melissa slept deeply.
I got out of bed, pulled the micro lapel camera from its hiding spot, and pinned it to the inside of the black overcoat I was wearing tomorrow.
Then, I double-checked that the remote backup drive was fully synced.