Chapter Eight The Wedding Rehearsal (Part Two)

The Billionaire's Contract Bride

Chapter Eight The Wedding Rehearsal (Part Two)

The ballroom fell into complete silence.

Shards of crystal covered the polished marble floor like glittering ice. Guests stood frozen, unable to believe what had just happened.

Only seconds earlier, Claire had been standing directly beneath the chandelier.

Martin slowly released the arm that had instinctively shielded her.

"Are you hurt?" he asked.

Claire shook her head, though her heart was still racing.

"I'm... I'm fine."

Martin studied her face for another moment, making sure she wasn't hiding an injury.

Then he turned to Ethan.

"Seal the ballroom."

His voice was calm.

Too calm.

Ethan immediately understood what that meant.

"Nobody leaves."

Several guests exchanged nervous glances.

Richard Blackwood frowned.

"Martin, surely this is just an accident."

Martin looked at the steel cable lying among the broken crystal.

"No."

He walked toward it, crouched down, and picked up one end.

The clean edge caught the light.

"This wasn't wear and tear."

He handed it to Ethan.

"It was cut with a professional tool."

A murmur spread through the room.

Someone had tried to stage an accident.

But why?

Edward Blackwood gripped the arms of his wheelchair.

"Are you saying someone tried to murder my future granddaughter?"

Martin didn't answer.

He didn't need to.

The silence was answer enough.

An hour later...

Most of the guests had been escorted home.

The estate's security team searched every room while detectives quietly photographed the scene.

Claire sat alone in the library, unable to stop replaying the moment in her mind.

If Martin hadn't asked her to step outside...

She would have died.

A knock came at the door.

"Come in."

Martin entered, carrying two cups of coffee.

"I wasn't sure if you drink coffee."

Claire accepted one.

"I do."

She wrapped both hands around the warm cup.

"It still doesn't feel real."

Martin remained standing.

"I've increased security."

"No one enters or leaves the estate without my approval."

Claire looked at him.

"You think they'll try again?"

Martin answered honestly.

"I don't know."

"But I'm not willing to take that chance."

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Claire smiled weakly.

"You've saved my life twice now."

Martin looked slightly puzzled.

"Twice?"

"The first time..."

She lowered her eyes.

"You saved my family from losing everything."

"The second time..."

She glanced toward the ballroom.

"You pulled me away before the chandelier fell."

Martin's expression softened.

"I made a promise."

Claire frowned.

"What promise?"

He reminded her quietly.

"'If either of us is in danger... we protect each other.'"

Claire couldn't help smiling.

"So you actually remember our agreement."

"I remember everything."

She didn't know why...

But hearing those words made her feel unexpectedly safe.

Elsewhere...

In a dimly lit warehouse on the outskirts of the city...

A man in a dark suit stood before several surveillance photographs.

Each picture showed Martin and Claire together.

The warehouse door opened.

Ivy walked inside.

Without speaking, she placed a newspaper on the table.

"They're getting closer."

The man didn't look up.

"The chandelier failed."

"I know."

She folded her arms.

"What now?"

The man finally turned.

His face remained hidden in the shadows.

"We adapt."

He pointed to one photograph.

"Martin Blackwood has started protecting her."

"That complicates things."

Ivy's voice hardened.

"Then separate them."

The man smiled.

"No."

"If Martin believes Claire is in danger..."

"He'll never leave her side."

He tapped another file.

"We don't attack his body."

"We attack his trust."

Ivy's eyes narrowed.

"What are you planning?"

The man closed the folder.

"A lie."

"The most dangerous weapon in the world."

The following morning...

Claire awoke to a neatly wrapped gift resting on the dressing table.

There was no sender's name.

Only a handwritten note.

Curious, she untied the ribbon and opened the box.

Inside lay an old silver locket.

At first glance, it seemed ordinary.

Then she opened it.

One side contained a faded photograph of a smiling young woman she didn't recognize.

The other side held a tiny folded piece of paper.

Claire unfolded it carefully.

Her breath caught.

Written in neat black ink were the words:

"Ask Martin Blackwood what happened to Isabella."

Claire read the sentence again.

Who was Isabella?

Why was Martin's name connected to her?

And who had left the locket in her room?

A soft knock interrupted her thoughts.

Martin's voice came from outside.

"Claire?"

She quickly closed the locket and slipped it into her pocket.

"Yes?"

"We're leaving for the final wedding fitting."

She glanced once more at the mysterious note.

Then answered,

"I'll be right there."

As she followed Martin down the grand staircase, one question echoed in her mind.

Who was Isabella...

...and why did someone want her to ask that question now?