Chapter 5 - The Red Carnation
The Hawthorne Gallery re-opened on Thursday under heavy security.
Dominic had forbidden Sophia from going, but she had refused to spend the day locked in a tower. “If I hide, Liam wins,” she had told him over breakfast. “I won’t live in a cage, Dominic. Even if the bars are made of your gold.”
Dominic had conceded, but not without compromise: three plainclothes operatives disguised as gallery visitors, Caleb stationed outside in an unmarked Lincoln, and the front entrance retrofitted with an airport-grade concealed scanner.
By mid-afternoon, the gallery was humming with low conversation. Sunlight slanted through the restored fifth-floor glass, illuminating high-end canvasses of abstract expressionism.
Sophia stood behind the front desk, cataloging a new consignment of sculpture when a courier in a gray uniform entered.
He carried a slender, silver-wrapped box tied with a blood-red satin ribbon.
“Delivery for Mrs. Sophia Mercer,” the courier announced.
One of the undercover Vale guards immediately intercepted him, scanning the parcel with a handheld sensor. The device remained silent. No explosives. No toxic residue.
The guard brought the box to Sophia’s desk. “It’s clean, ma'am. But Mr. Vale instructed us to inspect all incoming parcels.”
Sophia’s hands were steady, but her heart pounded against her ribs. “Open it.”
The guard cut the ribbon with a pocketknife and lifted the lid.
Inside lay a single, perfect red carnation resting on a bed of black velvet.
Beneath the flower was a handwritten note on heavy cardstock. Sophia leaned forward, her blood turning to slush as she read the precise, elegant cursive:
*The flower of sorrow for the mother-to-be.*
*A pity the seed was planted in poisoned soil.*
*See you at the Drake, Sophia.*
*— J.C.*
Sophia snatched her hand back as if the box were on fire.
Julian Cross didn't just know about the marriage.
He knew she was pregnant.
Before she could scream for Caleb, the gallery lights flickered twice. The grand chandelier in the center of the hall gave a low, grinding groan.
Down on the street, a tire squealed violently.
May you like
A gunshot echoed through the afternoon drizzle.
***