Chapter 4 - The Web of Black Velvet

By midnight, the wedding reception had turned into a full-scale crime scene.
I sat in the bridal suite with Detective Miller and Emily. The suite that had smelled of white roses and expensive perfume now felt like an interrogation cell.
"We searched her bridal clutch and her luggage in the honeymoon limousine," Detective Miller reported, placing an evidence bag on the glass coffee table.
Inside was the amber dropper bottle.
Forensics had already confirmed the residue on the dropper matched the chemical composition found in the spilled champagne: concentrated liquid aconitine, a lethal poison banned from commercial sale worldwide.
"We ran Vanessa’s financial records through the national database," Miller continued, his expression stone cold. "Liam, did you recently update your prenuptial agreement?"
A sickening wave of nausea washed over me. "Two weeks ago. She insisted on a mutual life insurance clause—twenty million dollars each, payable immediately to the surviving spouse in the event of accidental death or sudden medical catastrophe post-marriage."
"And if you had drank that glass during the toast," Detective Miller said quietly, "you would have collapsed on the dance floor before the first dance ended. With three hundred witnesses watching you choke on champagne, everyone would have assumed an acute allergic reaction or heart failure. By tomorrow morning, she would have been a grieving, wealthy widow for the second time in three years."
I stared at the wall, my hands trembling violently. The past eight months of romance, the trips to Venice, the intimate candlelit dinners—every word, every smile, every caress had been a calculated rehearsal for an execution.
I looked across the room at Emily. She sat on the velvet sofa, her uniform torn and a deep purple bruise forming on her cheek where Vanessa had struck her.
"Emily," I whispered, my voice breaking. "You saved my life."
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"I just did what was right, Mr. Sterling," she said softly. "I couldn't live with myself if I stayed silent twice."
"You will never have to work a catering shift again," I swore, taking her bruised hand into mine. "I promise you that on everything I own."