Chapter 55: Three Hours to the Gala

Nobody celebrated the discovery.

Not after seeing the passenger manifest.

The highlighted name remained on the television screen.

Julian Ashford.

Departure.

Three hours.

Destination: Zurich.

Victor folded his arms.

"Either someone wants us chasing a ghost... or the ghost is finally moving."

Arthur enlarged the document.

"The booking was made yesterday."

"Paid in cash."

"Passport issued six months ago."

"Can we verify it's genuine?" Damien asked.

"Not before the flight leaves."

The room fell silent.

Three hours.

The same amount of time remained before the Ashford Foundation Gala officially opened.

Every influential shareholder.

Every journalist.

Every member of the board.

All would be inside Ashford Manor.

"It's a distraction," I said.

Victor looked at me.

"Explain."

"Whoever planned this knows Damien can't disappear tonight."

"If he misses the gala, the board notices."

"If he goes to the airport, they win."

"If he stays... Julian escapes."

"Exactly," Victor replied.

"They're forcing us to split."

Rose hurried into the library carrying a tablet.

"The decorators are asking where to place the charity auction pieces."

"Guests begin arriving in less than three hours."

Damien closed his eyes briefly.

"The gala can't be cancelled."

"Not after everything already happened this week."

Victor nodded.

"Then we change the plan."

"Arthur goes to the airport."

"I'll remain here."

"Vivian stays where everyone can see her."

"No," I interrupted.

"I'm not hiding behind another event."

"You're not hiding," Victor answered.

"You're becoming bait."

His words hung heavily in the room.

"They've attacked your reputation."

"They've stolen your designs."

"They've kidnapped Briggs."

"Tonight they'll make another move."

"I intend to be waiting when they do."

Damien looked at me.

"Will you stand beside me tonight?"

I held his gaze.

"I'm standing beside the truth."

"Whether you're part of it is still your decision."

For the first time, he didn't argue.

He simply nodded.

Two hours later Ashford Manor had transformed.

Crystal chandeliers illuminated the grand ballroom.

Fresh white roses lined the marble staircase.

A string quartet rehearsed near the terrace.

Luxury cars already waited beyond the gates.

Reporters gathered outside.

Inside the dressing room, Celeste adjusted the final pin on my gown.

"Emerald still suits you best," she said softly.

I looked into the mirror.

The emerald silk reflected against my pale skin.

Months ago I would have worn it because Damien chose the colour.

Tonight I wore it because it reminded me of Verline.

Of the gemstones I shaped long before I became an Ashford.

Rose stepped inside.

"Madam..."

"Arthur called."

"He's at the airport."

"Has he found Julian?"

"Not yet."

"But the passport was real."

"Someone checked in using that name."

My pulse quickened.

"Who?"

"He hasn't seen the passenger yet."

"Security is delaying the flight."

A knock sounded at the dressing-room door.

Damien entered wearing a perfectly tailored black tuxedo.

He stopped when he saw me.

His expression softened.

"You look..."

He didn't finish.

"Ready," I answered.

"That's the word you're looking for."

A faint smile crossed his face.

"Yes."

"Ready."

He offered me his arm.

"Shall we?"

I hesitated only a second before accepting.

Not because we were husband and wife.

Because tonight appearances were another weapon.

The ballroom erupted into applause as we descended the staircase together.

Flashbulbs exploded.

Journalists shouted questions.

"Mrs. Ashford!"

"Is the plagiarism lawsuit true?"

"Are you divorcing?"

"Who owns Verline now?"

Neither of us answered.

Victor remained near the entrance, quietly watching every guest.

Arthur sent another message.

"Passenger located."

"Male."

"Approximately sixty years old."

"Not Julian."

"The passport is fake."

Victor wasn't surprised.

"Then the airport was never the destination."

"It was the diversion."

As the orchestra began playing, Damien stepped onto the stage to welcome the guests.

I remained below, scanning the crowd.

Politicians.

Investors.

Executives.

Faces I had seen for years.

Then one unfamiliar woman caught my attention.

Silver evening gown.

Black gloves.

Standing completely alone.

She wasn't watching Damien.

She was watching me.

The moment our eyes met, she smiled.

Not warmly.

Knowingly.

She slipped something beneath one of the auction display cases before disappearing into the crowd.

"Victor," I whispered into the discreet earpiece Arthur had insisted I wear.

"Display case twelve."

"Someone left a package."

"Don't touch it," he replied instantly.

Too late.

A young waiter had already bent down to retrieve it.

"Sir!" Victor shouted.

The waiter looked up, confused.

He lifted the small black box.

Nothing happened.

He placed it on the display table.

Victor carefully approached.

There were no wires.

No timer.

Only a single envelope taped to the lid.

Addressed to me.

He handed it over.

Inside was one folded card.

Five handwritten words.

"You're watching the wrong stage."

At that exact second, every light inside the ballroom went out.

Complete darkness covered the gala.

A woman screamed.

Glass shattered somewhere near the staircase.

The emergency lights flickered on three seconds later.

Three seconds were enough.

The central auction pedestal was empty.

The Ashford Family Diamond—worth millions—had vanished.

And so had Eleanor.