8. The Perfect Crime
Chapter eight
The Perfect Crime
The front doors of the Sovereign Building condo swung open, granting us entry into the sprawling penthouse. The glare of the bright afternoon sun bounced off stark white walls and polished chrome fixtures, forcing me to squint as I stepped across the marble threshold.
A deafening chorus of high-pitched chatter echoed across the open-concept living space. Dozens of wealthy guests turned toward the entryway the moment they noticed our arrival.
I stood flanked by Tobias and Lavinia, resting a hand beneath my bump to steady myself. Bastien remained a silent, imposing shadow a single step behind me.
“Tobias, take her cashmere coat,” Lavinia ordered, waving a manicured hand toward my shoulders. “It is sweltering in here, and she needs to breathe.”
“Of course,” Tobias murmured.
Stepping behind me, he grasped the collar of the expensive wool and pulled the coat down my arms, his knuckles brushing against my neck.
I suppressed the urge to jerk away from the contact. He put on a show for the audience, pretending to care about my physical comfort while secretly waiting for my death to unlock the trust fund. I forced a tight, grateful smile and let him hand the garment off to a waiting attendant.
Lavinia stepped forward, greeting a cluster of women near the dining table.
“Welcome, everyone,” she announced, her voice projecting over the noise. “Please, make yourselves comfortable. Margaret, the new abstract pieces I mentioned are hanging in the private study down the hall.”
Abandoning their previous conversations, the guests descended on us.
The sheer volume of their overlapping voices made my head ring.
The suffocating mixture of expensive floral perfumes created a wall of stifling heat around our tight circle.
They crowded into my personal space, their eyes locked onto my pregnant stomach like I was a museum exhibit.
“It is a miracle you felt up to the drive across town,” a woman in a red dress said. “The traffic on Fifth Avenue was a nightmare.”
“We took our time,” Tobias answered for me. “I made sure the driver avoided the main intersections to keep her stress levels down.”
“She still looks so pale,” the woman insisted, elbowing her way to the front. “Here, drink this before you faint on us.”
She snatched a flute of sparkling water from a passing tray and shoved it toward my chest.
“Thank you,” I said, accepting the drink.
I tightened my fingers around the cold crystal stem of the glass until the condensation slicked my skin. Holding it rigid in front of my stomach, I squeezed the crystal, staring at it so I wouldn’t scream at them to back away.
These people did not care about my recovery. They only cared about securing a front-row seat to a high-society scandal.
I sipped the carbonated water and shifted my gaze over the rim of the glass, scanning the perimeter of the room. I looked past the barstools and the towering abstract sculptures decorating the main living area.
I located the short, narrow hallway branching off from the dining space. It led straight back to Lavinia’s private study. The hidden safe sat secured behind a piece of modern art down that exact corridor.
I looked toward Bastien. He stood near a towering potted plant, his expression completely blank as his gaze swept the room.
The socialites continued to crowd closer, demanding my attention and blocking my view of the hallway.
Their intrusive hovering was the perfect camouflage.
If I kept the entire room fixated on my trauma, Bastien could slip down that corridor unnoticed. I just needed to hold them here.
“Cecilia, darling, you are so brave to even be out of bed.” A blonde woman leaned in, her voice dropping to a theatrical whisper meant for everyone to hear. “My therapist says trauma like that can ruin the third trimester.”
“We were simply sick with worry,” another older woman added, clutching a beaded purse against her ribs. “Did the police ever figure out who those awful men were?”
Taking a shallow breath, I let my shoulders slump. I dropped my gaze to the hardwood floor, giving them the shattered heiress they expected to see.
“Thank you, both of you,” I murmured. “The police are handling it.”
I leaned against Tobias, allowing him to wrap a possessive arm around my waist for the crowd.
“Tobias and my mother have just been keeping me so safe.”
I caught Bastien’s eye across the crowded living room. He offered a single, barely noticeable nod.
The signal was set.
“Cecilia, darling,” Lavinia called out from her position near the dining table, holding a cocktail napkin. “Do you need to sit down? You look like you’re wavering.”
“No, I’m alright,” I said.
I opened my fingers.
The crystal water glass slipped from my grip and shattered against the hardwood floor.
The violent crash sliced through the dull roar of the party chatter. Shards of glass exploded across the polished wood, splashing cold, carbonated water directly against my bare ankles.
Doubling over, I clutched the underside of my pregnant belly with both hands. I sucked in a sharp, ragged breath, letting a raw, desperate cry of pain tear out of my throat.
“Oh! Tobias… it hurts, a cramp…”
The entire room went silent for a fraction of a second. Then, the shouting started.
Abandoning the wealthy executive he was speaking to, Tobias shoved his way through the crowd. He rushed toward me, his leather shoes crunching over the broken crystal on the floor.
“Cecilia! Hey, give her some room!” Tobias yelled, waving his arms at the encroaching guests. “Everyone step back!”
The socialites ignored his command. They swarmed closer, forming a tight, suffocating circle around us.
The heat radiating from their bodies trapped the stagnant air in the center of the room.
I stayed bent over, keeping my hands locked beneath my bump, and focused on breathing in short, panicked gasps.
Lavinia pushed her way to the front of the circle, dropping her cocktail napkin onto a side table.
“Oh my god, is it the baby? Someone get a chair, right now!” Lavinia shrieked, faking her hysteria loud enough for her friends to hear.
Tobias grabbed my upper arms, trying to steady me.
“I’ve got you,” Tobias said, pitching his voice so the whole room could hear his frantic concern. “Just tell me where it hurts.”
“Tobias! It hurts. Help me!”
Dropping my hands from my stomach, I grabbed the lapels of his tailored suit jacket. I dug my fingernails into the expensive wool fabric and pulled him forward, forcing him to take my weight.
He pulled me flush against his chest to keep me from stumbling.
The trap was set. Pinned by the crowd, Tobias and Lavinia had no choice but to stand there and fake their panic. I squeezed my eyes shut and leaned my weight against his chest, locking him in place.
The crowd of socialites pressed closer, sealing us in a suffocating ring of stale, perfume-laced air. I let out another ragged moan, twisting my fingers deeper into the fabric to anchor myself against him.
“Step back, give her air!” Tobias yelled over my head.
He reached up, sliding his palm against mine. His skin was damp with sweat. It turned my stomach, but I clamped my hand down over his, trapping his fingers. If I let go, he might pull away. If I let go, he might notice the empty space near the potted plant.
I kept my head bowed, but my eyes darted through the gaps in the hovering crowd. Bastien was a shadow moving against the stark white walls, slipping into the narrow hallway and vanishing from sight.
The distraction was set. Now I just had to buy him time.
Lavinia pushed past a woman in a red dress, digging into her designer purse to pull out her cell phone. The bright screen illuminated her pale, panicked face as she tapped at the keypad.
“I’m calling the hospital,” Lavinia announced, making sure her voice was shrill enough for everyone to hear. “You need a doctor. Right this instant.”
She raised the phone toward her ear. A hospital trip would ruin the timeline.
The paramedics would clear the room, and Bastien would be trapped in the hallway.
I released Tobias’s lapel and stood up straighter, resting my free hand on top of my bump.
I forced myself to slow down, taking loud, deliberate breaths.
“No,” I said, letting my voice shake just enough to sound weak. “I think… I think it was Braxton Hicks.”
Lavinia paused, the phone hovering inches from her face. The socialites exchanged dramatic, knowing whispers. I leaned my weight back against Tobias’s side, forcing my face to soften as I stared up at him.
“I just need to take some time to breathe through it,” I murmured. “Will you help me?”
Tobias puffed his chest out slightly and squeezed my damp hand, soaking up the attention of the crowd like a hero.
“Of course, honey. Whatever you need.”
I stared at the lapel of his suit. “Count for me,” I whispered.
“Inhale,” Tobias instructed, his voice low and soothing. “One. Two. Three.”
I followed his cadence, pulling the stale air into my lungs.
Every second stretched into a suffocating drag.
I focused on the loud tick of a modern wall clock hanging over the dining table, watching the silver hand click across the face.
Ten seconds. Thirty seconds. A full minute.
I kept my hand locked with Tobias’s, ignoring the clammy friction of our palms sliding together.
“Exhale,” Tobias said. “Just focus on me.”
I let the air out, staring directly at the knot of his silk tie.
The guests continued to hover, their shoes shifting near the puddle of spilled carbonated water and broken crystal.
Two minutes. Three minutes. The muscles in my lower back began to ache from the awkward position.
I could not keep this up forever. If Bastien didn’t find the safe soon, Lavinia’s patience would run out and she would call the paramedics anyway.
Movement caught the edge of my vision.