The envelope lay exactly between Eleanor’s red satin heels and Marcus’s polished leather shoes. The front of it was blank, but the paper was aged and slightly yellowed at the edges.
Marcus slowly lowered his gaze to the marble floor. His eyes locked onto the envelope.
Eleanor noticed it at the exact same second. She recognized exactly what it was, and I saw the desperate, animal panic explode in her eyes. Without a word of warning, she lunged forward, her heavy high heel raising to stomp down on the fragile paper.
Chapter 2: The Things We Keep Hidden
Marcus didn't even hesitate.
As Eleanor’s red heel came down to crush the envelope, Marcus shot his arm out, catching her by the shoulder and physically shoving her backward. The movement was sharp and undeniable. Eleanor stumbled in her expensive dress, catching her balance on the edge of the banquet table and knocking over a half-empty bottle of red wine. It shattered, pooling like blood across the white linen, but no one in the room even blinked at the mess.
"Don't touch it," Marcus warned, his voice dropping into a register so cold it sent a shiver down my spine.
Eleanor caught her breath, staring at her husband with wide, horrified eyes. "Marcus, you cannot do this," she pleaded, her voice trembling, stripping away the last of her socialite armor. "You cannot humiliate me like this in front of our friends. She’s lying. Sarah was a liar! She was an unstable, greedy woman who wanted to drag you down, and she clearly poisoned this girl's mind against us to get a piece of your fortune!"
Marcus completely ignored her.
He slowly sank to one knee, the expensive fabric of his tuxedo pants pulling tight as he knelt on the hard marble floor. His large, trembling hands reached out, gently picking up the aged envelope. He brushed a speck of dust off the corner.
"My mother told me I couldn't read it," I whispered, the words tumbling out of my mouth before I could stop them. My voice sounded incredibly small in the cavernous ballroom. "She told me I had to give it to you. She said the only way you would ever believe me was if you read it yourself."
Marcus didn't answer right away. He stood back up, holding the envelope with both hands. He ran his thumb across the sealed flap. I saw the muscles in his jaw ticking frantically, fighting a losing battle against his emotions.
Slowly, deliberately, he slid his finger under the flap and tore it open. The sharp sound of the paper tearing was the only noise in the room. Even the waiters lined against the kitchen doors were holding their breath.
Marcus pulled out a single sheet of lined notebook paper. It was folded neatly into thirds. He opened it, and as his eyes hit the first line, the remaining color drained entirely from his face.
I watched him read. I had carried that letter against my chest for three days since my mother passed, terrifyingly curious about what it said, but too loyal to break her final promise. Now, I watched my mother's last words detonate inside the man standing in front of me.
His eyes scanned the faded blue ink. First, he looked devastated. A solitary tear broke free and tracked down his cheek, catching the light of the chandelier. But as he kept reading, moving further down the page, the grief in his eyes began to shift. The softness vanished. It was replaced by a darkness, a hardened, terrible fury that seemed to radiate from his bones.
His breathing grew heavy. The paper trembled violently in his grip.
He didn't just look at Eleanor. He glared at her with a disgust so absolute it felt physical.
"Marcus," Eleanor whimpered, backing up another step, her hands fluttering nervously near her throat. "Whatever it says, it's a lie. She ran away from you. You know she did. She couldn't handle the pressure of our world."