Chapter 7 - The Closing Circle
Two security guards in heavy black tuxedos, drawn by the sudden, suffocating tension at the VIP table, materialized from the shadows of the archways. They stood like monoliths, their eyes shifting between Arthur’s grim, slate-like expression and Victoria’s panic-stricken face.
"Sir," one of the guards murmured, stepping closer, his hand resting near his belt. "Should we escort the young lady out?"
May you like
"Not her," Arthur said, his voice cold as winter ice. He pointed a trembling, gold-ringed finger directly at Victoria. "Escort her to the basement holding room. And lock the doors from the outside."
Victoria let out a strangled, animalistic cry, lunging forward as if to plead for mercy at the old man's feet, but the guards moved with mechanical efficiency, their large hands gripping her arms. The illusion of her invincibility shattered against the polished hardwood floor.
