Chapter Seven
My heels clicked lightly against the polished floor as I walked through the estate, and for a moment it felt like the whole place was holding its breath.
Because tonight wasn’t just a welcome party. It was the welcome party. The kind of party only billionaires and people with private jets considered “small.”
We were talking custom lighting installations, a hundred-thousand-dollar floral budget, security teams doing discreet laps of the grounds, and a guest list that read like a who’s who of international money, art, culture and influence.
Every moving part had been checked, double-checked, and then checked again because I do not believe in the concept of “just good enough.”
It felt good, satisfying even, to have the day unfolding exactly as planned. A miracle, actually, considering the scale.
I reached my room, intending to only grab my charger and take a quick peek at my makeup in the mirror before diving back into the next wave of logistics, confirming the bands’ rehearsal time, reviewing the drone-light choreography, and making sure Lucas didn’t crash the VIP arrivals with whatever inappropriate enthusiasm he’d apparently woken up with today.
The air inside my room was cool and faintly perfumed with the lavender sachet that was placed on the dresser.
Everything looked exactly as I had left it that morning.
Almost.
My eyes flicked to the bedside table and froze.
The drawer was open.
Barely.
The tiniest sliver, a whisper of space where it should’ve been flush.
For a second, I didn’t move.
My brain tripped over the logic of it. I’d shut that drawer last night. I remembered the click of it closing. I’d even tugged it to check.
A small, stupid sound left my throat, half a sigh, half a laugh, as I crossed the room. Probably nothing. Maybe the cleaner had opened it, or I’d left it ajar.
Except when I pulled the drawer open, the air left my lungs completely.
It was empty.
The velvet box was gone.
The space it had occupied, that small little rectangle, was still imprinted in the fabric like an accusation.
I just stood there, gripping the drawer, waiting for my brain to catch up.
No box. No brooch. No… anything.
I yanked the drawer fully open, rifling through it, as if it might’ve slipped behind something.
Nothing.
I checked the others, scarf, folder, mints, all still there.
I moved quickly around the room.
I checked the wardrobe, the bathroom, even under the bed.
Zilch.
I sank slowly onto the bed. A wave of heat flushed up my neck. My pulse was everywhere, in my temples, my fingertips, my throat.
Okay, think.
Had I moved it?
No. I hadn’t.
I could see myself now, kneeling by the drawer last night, slipping the navy velvet box inside, shutting it in carefully.
And now it was gone.
A cold ripple slid through me. Margaret Harrington’s voice echoed faintly in my mind, “It is priceless. And it will be pinned to Caroline’s gown right before the ceremony.”
“Oh god,” I whispered, pressing a hand to my mouth.
Has it been stolen?
The Harringtons would sue me.
My name would be blacklisted faster than I could say destination package.
I sank onto the edge of the bed, gripping my knees, willing myself to breathe.
Maybe Cleo had moved it?
No. She wouldn’t.
She wouldn’t touch anything without telling me.
Maybe it was a prank? Who would be that stupid?
I stood and looked around the room again, more slowly this time.
Nothing else was disturbed.
My laptop was still on the desk.
My phone charger still coiled neatly.
My clothes folded.
Whoever had taken it knew exactly what they were looking for.
I pressed my palms to my face, the beginnings of a headache forming just behind my eyes. The air felt thick, too still. Outside, I could hear conversations drifting up from the terrace, the clink of cutlery, the world still moving as if everything was fine.
But inside, everything had shifted.
I crossed to the door, then stopped, unsure whether to run straight to Cleo or call Noah first.
What was I even supposed to say?
Good morning, the priceless family heirloom has vanished, but the oysters are on ice?
The absurdity of it almost made me laugh. Almost.
Instead, I sank back against the wall, heart pounding, trying to decide what on earth I was going to do.
And that was when the knock came.
Sharp, unexpected, too soon.
It startled me so hard I jumped.
“Holly?” Cleo’s voice carried through the door, bright and oblivious. “Where did you get to? Caroline’s been…”
I yanked the door open and grabbed her wrist before she could finish. “Get in. Now.”
“Whoa, okay!” She stumbled inside as I shut the door quickly behind us. “What’s the matter with you?”
“It’s gone.” My voice came out tight, almost a whisper.
Cleo frowned. “What’s gone?”
“The brooch.” I turned to the drawer and pulled it open. “The Harrington heirloom. It’s not here.”
For a second, she didn’t move. “You mean… not here as in you moved it? Or…”
“As in gone,” I said. “Vanished.”
Her mouth fell open. “Shit! You’re kidding. Tell me you’re kidding.”
I just stared at her.
“Oh my god, it’s been stolen?” she yelped, pressing both hands to her head. “No, no, no, no. Holly, this cannot be happening.”
I started pacing. “Look. I put it in this drawer last night. I shut it. I checked it. It was right there!”
“Maybe housekeeping…”
“They haven’t been through yet. The sign’s still on the door.”
Cleo darted around the room, scanning surfaces, opening drawers, pulling at the bed skirt like the thing might have sprouted legs and crawled away. “You checked everywhere?”
“Yes.”
“Under the bed?”
“Yes.”
“Behind the curtains?”
“Cleo.”
She froze mid-step, eyes wide and a little wild.
She pressed a hand to her chest, trying to breathe. “Margaret’s going to have an aneurysm. And then she’s going to kill us. Both of us. Slowly. With very expensive lawyers.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Your business will be ruined! We’ll have to move to Perth and start doing school fetes and engagement parties at bowling clubs!”
“Cleo.”
She started pacing too now, both of us caught in the same tight orbit of panic. “All right, all right, we just need to find it. Maybe someone came in? Maybe one of the guests…”
“No,” I said quickly. “We can’t accuse anyone. Not without proof. If word gets out, it’ll destroy the weekend. And Noah’s reputation.”
Cleo threw her arms up. “Oh great, let’s protect Mr Doesn’t-Need-a-Safe while we lose our entire business!”
I groaned. “I know, okay? But if Margaret finds out before we know what happened, it’s over. For everyone.”
Cleo stopped, her eyes darted to the open drawer again, that empty space, taunting us both. “So what do we do?”
I inhaled slowly, trying to sound like the calm, capable version of myself people actually paid for. “We start small. Quiet. Check with staff. Maybe someone saw something?”
Cleo nodded, though her face was still pale. “And if they didn’t?”
“Then,” I said grimly, “we figure out how to tell Noah before the Harringtons find out.”
Cleo blew out a shaky breath. “I knew this job would kill me one day. I just thought it’d be the cake tastings.”
Despite the panic clawing through me, I rolled my eyes.
“Come on,” I said, pulling her to her feet. “We’ll start with the staff in the hallway. No panic. No one suspects a thing.”
Cleo nodded, though her hands were still trembling. “Right. Cool. Casual. Totally normal.”
“Exactly.” I said. “We’ve got this.”
But as we stepped into the bright corridor, my stomach twisted.
Because for the first time in my career, I wasn’t sure we did.