Chapter 2 - The Ghost of Arthur Kensington
A deathly stillness blanketed the three hundred guests.
Vanessa stepped back, her heel catching on the edge of her train, her eyes wide with terror she could no longer conceal.
"What did you just say?" I asked, my voice dropping to a gravelly whisper.
Emily turned to face me. "Three years ago, I worked as a private live-in housekeeper in Greenwich, Connecticut," she said, her voice shaking but gaining strength with every word. "My employer was Arthur Kensington."
Murmurs erupted across the banquet hall. Arthur Kensington was a legendary real estate tycoon who had passed away unexpectedly three years prior. The entire country knew of his sudden demise—and that his young widow, Vanessa, had inherited his eighty-million-dollar estate.
"Arthur was healthy," Emily continued, tears welling in her eyes. "He was fifty-two, played tennis every morning, and had zero history of heart disease. But two months after they married, he started complaining of dizziness, burning sensations in his throat, and cold sweats. One afternoon, I saw Mrs. Sterling—then Mrs. Kensington—putting drops from that exact amber vial with a silver skull label into his afternoon electrolyte drink."
"You're lying! You slanderous bitch!" Vanessa screamed, lunging toward Emily.
I caught Vanessa by both wrists, holding her back. The woman in my grip was no longer the soft, empathetic soul I had fallen in love with in Paris six months ago. Beneath the veil and white silk was a predator caught with blood on her claws.
"Let go of me, Liam!" Vanessa hissed, thrashing against my hold. "She's trying to ruin our life!"
"Arthur died of sudden cardiac arrhythmia that very night," Emily told the room, her voice steady and clear. "The coroner ruled it natural causes because Vanessa told the paramedics he had been abusing prescription diet pills. When I asked the estate manager about the amber bottle, I was fired within two hours, threatened with legal action, and blacklisted from high-end domestic service."
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Emily looked at the puddle of spilled champagne on the marble floor.
"When I was assigned to work your reception today and saw her face in the bridal suite with that exact same dropper bottle... I knew history was repeating itself. I couldn't let another innocent man die."
