Ch 45: Checkmate
Kazimir’s hand locked around Elena’s. He pulled her behind him, shoulders squaring, free hand curling into a fist.
Nikolai had abandoned his position, appearing beside Kazimir. “Something’s wrong.”
Kazimir didn’t spare a glance toward the dais where Valentina hunched over a table. His focus stayed on Elena. “I’m not leaving her.”
Nikolai's eyes widened in disbelief. "You have to. It’s Valentina, Kazimir!"
“She’s not my priority,” Kazimir snapped.
The words landed heavily in Elena’s chest. She glanced past his shoulder at Valentina. True, the woman had made her first weeks in the mansion a living hell. But three weeks ago, Valentina had also pressed a dagger into Elena’s palm and warned her about Dante. It was a gesture Elena couldn’t ignore.
She touched his arm. ‘Kazimir, just go,’ she mouthed. ‘I'm safe here. Leo, Timothy, Arlo. They won't let anything happen to me.’
Kazimir didn’t budge. His grey eyes searched her face, looking for the lie.
Elena held his gaze. ‘I know you. You'll never forgive yourself if something really happens to her. Please go. I'll be right here.’
His jaw tightened. His hand squeezed hers, then loosened. He exhaled and scanned the room until he found Leo by the windows.
"Leo," he called, his voice cutting through the murmur of the crowd. "Guard her. Understand?"
Leo nodded and began weaving between clusters of agitated guests.
Kazimir turned back to her. "Two minutes. I'll be back."
She nodded.
Then he was gone, striding toward the dais with Nikolai. The crowd parted, sensing their urgency.
Elena looked around at her surroundings. Leo was still pushing through the crowd. Timothy tried to calm frightened socialites near the champagne fountain.
And Arlo—
Where's Arlo?
She turned, searching. Her eyes swept past clusters of nervous guests, past servants, past the dark corners. There. Moving toward her from the direction of the library corridor, a route that bypassed the densest part of the crowd. His expression was unreadable, his hands clasped behind his back.
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But something was different: his eyes. They fixed on her with a focused purpose that made her skin prickle with a cold sweat.
Her pulse jumped. She took a step back, her heel catching on the velvet drape.
Arlo's eyes flickered.
She turned to flee—
The lights went out.
The ballroom plunged into absolute darkness. Women screamed. Men shouted. Glass shattered as someone knocked over a champagne tower in the black void.
Elena froze for one heartbeat. Valentina's words echoed in her ears with terrible clarity: "Dante is looking for leverage against Kazimir. And he's decided you're the place to find it."
And now Dante had done exactly that: He used his own daughter as a diversion to lure Kazimir away and capture Elena.
No, I will not be used against Kazimir. I will not be his weakness.
She moved.
Blind, she threw herself to the right—away from Arlo, toward the west windows where the servant's corridor lay behind the third tapestry. Her shoulder slammed into someone—a woman who shrieked and stumbled. Elena didn't stop. Her hands reached out for anything that would guide her.
The west wall. The corridor is behind the third tapestry—
Footsteps behind her. Close. Too close.
Elena veered left, her hip cracking against the edge of a table. Pain flared, radiating down her thigh, but she bit down on her lip and kept moving. Glass crunched under her heels. Someone's elbow caught her in the ribs, knocking the wind from her lungs. The darkness was disorienting.
Where is the wall? Where—
Her outstretched hands met fabric. A hand closed around her wrist with an iron grip.
She wrenched away, twisting, and swinging blindly. Her fist connected with something solid. There was a grunt of pain. The grip loosened. She tore free.
Keep moving. Don't stop. Don't—
Arms wrapped around her from behind. One hand clamped over her mouth before she could bite down or scream. The other pinned her flailing arms against her ribs. She thrashed, kicking backward. Her heel connected with the attacker's shin. He grunted but didn't loosen his hold.
Then a cloth pressed over her nose and mouth. A sweet, cloying chemical filled her lungs before she could hold her breath or turn away.
"Easy now." Arlo's voice, calm and quiet, by her ear. He adjusted his grip as her struggles weakened. "I'm sorry. Truly. You were never meant to be caught in this."
Liar!
The word burned through the fog, sharp but useless. Her limbs were going numb, her legs heavy. The chemical sweetness dragged at her consciousness. And in that terrible moment, slipping moment, everything clicked.
Arlo. Always quiet. Always watching. His politeness so proper that not a word was ever out of place.
And two weeks ago, during the meeting, he’d asked that question: "What about the accounts? The ones Dante mentioned?"
She had never told him about the accounts. Only Kazimir, Nikolai, Leo, and Timothy knew. Arlo hadn’t been there. He couldn't have known—unless he was already on Dante's side.
The signs had been there. She should have seen them. She should have trusted her instincts. But her body was going slack now, the fight draining out of her muscles.
Arlo lifted her, cradling her against his chest.
With the last flicker of strength, Elena kicked out blindly. Her right foot caught on something, and the strap of her satin slipper snapped free. The shoe flew off into the dark, a small piece of evidence flung into the chaos.
Kazimir, I'm sorry, I tried.
Her body went limp. The last thing she heard before the darkness swallowed her whole was the soft click of a door closing.
Last edited by Feiya Phia 5/18/26