Chapter 12
Upstairs, the music had finally stopped, and the last of the guests were filtering out through the front doors, their coats bundled against the cool night air. Elena stood alone in the center of the vast, marble-floored foyer. The crystal chandelier cast sharp, cold reflections across the polished surface. She was still wearing the dark burgundy sequin evening gown, but the glamour of it seemed to have faded, leaving her looking tired and small in the cavernous space. Footsteps approached from the service stairwell. Julian walked into the foyer, his tie slightly loosened at the collar. He stopped a few feet away from his wife, his hands sliding into his pockets. "They're all gone," Elena said quietly, not looking up at him. "Marcus?" "He's gone too. He won't be back." Elena let out a long, shaky breath, her fingers clutching the delicate fabric at her waist. "I was angry," she murmured, the defense sounding hollow even to her own ears. "He looked so sure of himself. And the necklace... it was my grandmother's." Julian remained silent for a long moment, letting the admission hang in the empty space between them. "Anger makes you stupid, Elena," he said finally, his voice devoid of malice, carrying only a heavy, weary truth. "And pride makes you cruel."
