Page 206 of Chandelier Enthralled
A few masked guests were waiting in line to be admitted through those imposing doors.
When it was my turn, I walked up to the couple of guys in tuxedos who were screening the visitors, allowing each one through as they passed.
Flashing my most disarming smile, my voice as smooth as velvet, I said, “Jewel Hadley forgot her phone. She asked me to personally bring it to her.”
The taller one hesitated, eyes darting to my confident stance. “I have to check.”
Opening my clutch, I whipped out my Pulse360 ID. “Here.”
He studied it and then stepped aside, allowing me through.
I was in.
Music welcomed me in the vast foyer. The sense of history here was palpable. I wished it was possible to visit the castle for pleasure, hear about its endless secrets. I certainly wouldn’t want to wander around the place at night.
Scanning the crowd, I searched the masks for Greyson’s eyes.
The setting was startling. I was surrounded by faded tapestries, antique furniture, and medieval armor. Stone archways opened into larger halls with lofty ceilings.
My breath caught in my throat.
The same man—the monster—whohad appeared on the camera footage in Greyson’s backyard—the very one who had murdered Amelia by the pool—was standing only a few feet away from me.
Iwas in. What a fucking adrenaline rush.
From the way everyone around me ignored my presence, I knew my plan to infiltrate the castle unseen was unfolding nicely.
The clatter of plates and the scent of rich desserts filled the air as staff worked in a hurried but organized fashion. Firelight flickered on weathered walls, casting long shadows over the frenzied chopping and stirring of the workers—controlled chaos in a kitchen—this one was inside Mont-Saint-Michel.
There were a few other sight-seeing locations I wanted to visit while in France, but this event was my first stop. My next would be the Louvre and then the usual attractions—the Eiffel Tower, Notre-Dame Cathedral, and of course Montmartre and Sacre-Coeur Basilica.
But first—ending Jewel Hadley.
With my tuxedo jacket over my shoulder, I did my best to appear casual in this sea of culinary masters.
“How we looking?” I asked the pastry chef.
The chef stood beside me, wearing already stained linens and a happy smirk. We both had our phones out as we checked the transfer of thousands of dollars over to him for sneaking me into the castle. He gave an approving nod as the money appeared in his account.
We both tucked our phones away.
Last night, I hunted down regular staff at Mont-Saint-Michel and found a few of them in a local bar. Not an easy feat, but doable, especially when running off copious amounts of caffeine with a side of well-earned grudges.
Of course, all this drama wouldn’t have been necessary if Atticus and Jake had let me murder Jewel at Pendulum back when I had the chance.
“Merci, mon ami,” said the chef brightly, like sneaking in a guest wasn’t illegal and highly immoral. He walked away without looking back, trying not to appear suspicious.
I headed off in the opposite direction to cook up my own kind of dark mischief.
Slipping on my simple masquerade mask, I strolled casually into the main ballroom, effortlessly mingling with the sea of guests, but talking with no one. I didn’t want anyone to hear my accent.
The opulence was a welcome change of scenery, the air thick with intrigue. The room was bathed in a dim golden light, setting the stage.
Classical music augmented the glamorous atmosphere as the elegantly dressed crowd, adorned in tuxedos and gowns, gathered as personally invited guests. Their captivating masks added an air of mystery, making my job a bit more challenging.
Everyone here had been assigned to a room—with the tide on its way in, no one was getting off this island tonight.
Including me.
