Tahlia's Celebration

Tahlia

The bass from the speakers hummed straight through the couch, sending tiny ripples across the surface of my pink champagne.

Inside the private VIP lounge of L’Étoile, high above the wet streets of Zurich, the air smelled of expensive French perfume, sweet cigar smoke, and pure, unfiltered victory. Golden confetti lay scattered over the dark marble floor, catching the warm glow of the crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.

Around me, five of Zurich’s most influential socialite women were laughing, their diamond bracelets sparkling under the dim lights as they raised their flutes toward me.

"To Tahlia!" Chloe squealed, her eyes wide with excitement as she clinked her glass against mine. "The new undisputed queen of the Vance dynasty! We all knew it was only a matter of time before that depressed ghost was pushed out."

I leaned back against the cushions crossing my legs with a soft, satisfied sigh. I wanted everyone to see me. I wanted the whole city to know that the throne belonged to me now.

"Please, darling," I said, taking a slow, delicate sip of the vintage champagne, letting the sweet bubbles rest on my tongue. "Let’s not give her too much credit. Merinda was never a rival. She was just a temporary stain on Banjo’s reputation, and stains are meant to be scrubbed away."

The women erupted into melodic, artificial laughter.

"I heard she left the estate carrying just one small suitcase," whispered Beatrice, leaning in close with a wicked, eager grin. "Is it true she didn't even get a cash settlement from the agreement?"

"Not a single Swiss franc," I lied smoothly, flashing my bright, perfect smile. "Banjo realized what kind of snake she really was. She signed the divorce papers, handed over the land deed to St. Judes, and practically begged for permission to leave the country. The trash has finally been swept out of the house, girls."

In truth, a tiny, annoying knot of tension was still twisted deep in my stomach.

Banjo hadn't answered any of my five phone calls over the last two hours. Ever since he left the police station, his phone went straight to voicemail but I forced the thought out of my head. He was probably just overwhelmed, cleaning up the legal loose ends with his corporate lawyers. Besides, the money was already secured. Fifty million dollars in gold bearer certificates sat safely in an untraceable account under my private offshore alias, courtesy of the access codes Jarrah had quietly provided before the police moved in.

I was free. I was rich and soon, once Banjo recovered from the shock of the divorce, I would be the official mistress of Vance Enterprises.

"You must be exhausted, Tahlia," Chloe murmured, reaching over to pat my knee. "All those months of playing the frail, sick friend while that woman tried to poison Banjo’s mind against you"

"It was a sacrifice," I said, putting on my best innocent, long suffering face as I looked down at my glass. "I only did it because I love Banjo. I couldn't let that cold, heartless woman ruin his life. My father worked for the Vance family for forty years it was my duty to protect Banjo's legacy."

"You're an angel, Tahlia," Beatrice sighed, shaking her head. "Banjo is so lucky to have you."

I smiled into my glass, hiding the cold, sharp contempt I felt for every single person in this room. They were brainless sheep, completely blind to how the world actually worked. They thought I won because of love. They had no idea that while they were busy shopping on Bahnhofstrasse, I had spent two years carefully placing every piece of poison, every whispered rumor, and every fake financial leak to drive Merinda out of Banjo's bed and straight into a trap.

The curtain separating our private booth from the main VIP hallway suddenly rustled.

A waiter in a sharp black suit stepped into the room, carrying a silver serving tray. Resting in the center of the tray was a single, long stemmed black rose. Tucked right beneath the stem was a small, folded card made of heavy cardstock.

"Miss Thorne?" the waiter asked politely, bowing his head. "A gentleman just left this at the front entrance for you."

Chloe gasped softly, clapping her hands together. "Oh! Banjo is sending you flowers already? How romantic!"

My heart skipped a beat, a wave of relief washing through my chest. I knew he couldn't stay mad at me. I set my champagne glass down on the table and reached out, taking the black rose and the card from the tray.

"Thank you," I told the waiter, dismissing him with a light wave of my hand.

"Open it, Tahlia!" Beatrice urged, leaning forward over the table. "What does it say?"

I untied the ribbon holding the card closed. As I flipped the card open.

My breath caught instantly in my throat. My smile froze, turning rigid as ice.

The card wasn't written in Banjo's messy, hasty handwriting.

It read:

Celebrations are short when built on stolen gold, Tahlia. Look down at your dress.

A sudden, sharp sting prickled against the skin of my chest.

I looked down.

A tiny, deep red spot was slowly spreading across the middle of my dress, right over my heart. It wasn't champagne. It wasn't wine.

It was a drop of dark, thick blood leaking out from the stem of the black rose, where a microscopic needle had just pierced straight through my index finger.

My head spun violently. The loud music in the room suddenly sounded muffled, as if I were underwater. My vision blurred around the edges, dark shadows creeping into the corners of my eyes.

"Tahlia?" Chloe’s voice sounded miles away, completely distorted. "Tahlia, what's wrong? Why are you bleeding?"

The black rose slipped from my weak fingers, falling onto the floor.

My phone on the table suddenly chimed with a loud, piercing notification sound. Through my failing vision, I looked down at the glowing screen.

It was a automated banking alert from my private offshore account:

BALANCE: $0.00. ALL FUNDS TRANSFERRED TO KAEL SYNDICATE HOLDINGS.

My knees gave out, and I collapsed sideways unable to speak, unable to breathe, as the entire room dissolved into absolute blackness.