CHAPTER SEVEN-THE TRAP SPRINGS

The moment the chandeliers blinked, a ripple of uncertainty moved through the room. Conversations faltered, glasses stilled halfway to lips, and the soft background music cut off in a jarring silence.

Sam’s eyes flicked upward, watching the ornate lights sway slightly as if an unseen hand had toyed with the dimmer. It wasn’t a full blackout—just enough to disrupt the evening and pull every gaze toward the stage where the charity auctioneer stood, frozen mid-sentence.

Then, a sharp, authoritative voice cut through the air.

“There!”

The word came from the far side of the room, near the open archway leading toward the hotel’s gallery. A man in a dark suit stepped forward, holding up something small and metallic between his fingers. His expression was grim.

“This was found in the west wing corridor right outside Lady Westwood’s private suite,” the man announced, his tone carrying an accusation that needed no translation. “It’s a stolen diamond pendant from the charity’s silent auction collection. And…” His eyes locked on Sam like a predator finding its prey. “This gentleman was seen in that hallway moments ago.”

Murmurs erupted instantly. Heads turned toward Sam. Cameras,phones, discreet press photographers clicked like distant gunfire.

Sam’s jaw tightened. “What the hell are you talking about? I’ve been here the whole time.”

Trevor’s smirk was subtle but unmistakable, the kind of smile someone wears when the dominoes they’ve set in place begin to topple exactly as planned. He stood just behind the man making the accusation, his hands clasped loosely behind his back.

“Oh, come now, Sam,” Trevor said smoothly, projecting just enough volume to ensure half the room heard. “We all know you’re resourceful. Perhaps… too resourceful.”

Rose stepped between them, her chin raised defiantly. “This is ridiculous. Sam hasn’t left my side.”

“Not true,” Trevor countered. “He excused himself not ten minutes ago. Said he needed to make a phone call.”

Sam’s mind flashed back,Trevor was twisting it. He had stepped aside to take a call from Tony, but it was just outside the main ballroom, well within sight of half a dozen people.

A security guard in a pressed navy uniform approached, eyes narrowing at Sam. “Sir, we’ll need you to come with us and answer a few questions.”

“No,” Rose said sharply, her voice like ice cracking over a lake. “If you’re going to question him, you’ll do it here in front of everyone so the truth doesn’t get buried in whispers.”

The crowd loved it. Phones angled higher, catching every flicker of tension. The auctioneer, clearly rattled, tried to keep the program moving, but no one was paying attention to the bidding sheet anymore.

Lady Diana Westwood herself appeared from the far side of the room, her presence somehow louder than the chaos. Clad in emerald silk, she moved with unhurried precision, her sharp gaze sweeping the scene.

“What’s going on here?” she demanded.

Trevor stepped forward, all faux concern. “A very unfortunate situation, Aunt Diana. It seems one of the guests has been caught with stolen property right here at your event.”

Diana’s gaze slid to Sam. Not cold. Not warm. Measured. “And what do you have to say for yourself, Mr…?”

“Hartman,” Sam supplied evenly. “And what I have to say is that this is a setup.”

The crowd inhaled collectively.

Diana tilted her head slightly, considering. “A bold claim.”

“I can prove it,” Sam said. He could feel the blood pumping faster in his temples, the heat of dozens of eyes pressing on him. “But I’ll need two things—access to the security feed from the west wing and a chance to speak without being railroaded by Trevor here.”

Trevor gave an innocent shrug. “Why would I need to railroad you, Sam? If you’re innocent, the truth will clear you.”

Rose’s grip on Sam’s arm tightened half comfort, half warning.

The security chief, clearly caught between the influence of Lady Westwood and the public nature of the accusation, hesitated. “Ma’am?”

Diana’s eyes didn’t leave Sam’s. “Bring me the footage.”

Ten minutes later, the ballroom’s atmosphere had shifted from elegant to electric. The charity event had paused entirely, guests clustering in small, gossip-fueled knots. Trevor stood with a group of his own allies, murmuring to them with exaggerated hand gestures that made Sam look more guilty with every pantomime.

A portable monitor was wheeled in, and the feed was cued.

The footage from the west wing appeared in grainy black-and-white. There was the hallway outside Lady Westwood’s suite and there at timestamp 8:14 p.m. a tall man in a black suit entered the frame, glancing around before slipping something into his jacket pocket.

It looked like Sam. Same height. Same build. Same haircut.

A murmur rolled through the room like a low tide.

Trevor raised an eyebrow. “Well?”

“That’s not me,” Sam said firmly. “And I can prove that too. Look at the shoes.”

The crowd leaned in. On the screen, the figure turned slightly, revealing sleek, glossy leather shoes with a pointed toe.

Sam lifted his own foot, showing the matte finish of his brogues. “Different style. Different brand. And if that’s not enough,check the timestamp against the main ballroom footage. You’ll see me standing right here, talking to Rose at the same time.”

The security chief nodded to his team. “Pull it up.”

When the ballroom feed appeared, there it was 8:14 p.m., Sam leaning on the balcony rail with Rose beside him.

The whispering in the crowd shifted tone no longer sharp with suspicion, but tinged with curiosity.

Rose shot Trevor a look so sharp it could have drawn blood. “Care to explain that?”

Trevor’s smirk didn’t falter. “Mistaken identity, perhaps. But it doesn’t change the fact that someone tried to steal from Lady Westwood tonight. And maybe they weren’t working alone.”

He let his gaze linger on Sam, just long enough to plant a fresh seed of doubt.

Sam knew then this wasn’t just about humiliating him tonight. This was a campaign and the next move in that campaign was coming. He could feel it.

Just as the tension begins to ease, a waiter rushes in, pale and breathless. “Lady Westwood,your suite has been broken into and something far more valuable than a pendant is missing.”

All eyes swing back to Sam.