Chapter 8 - The Weight of the Secret
The music in the ballroom had finally ground to a halt, the string quartet trailing off into an awkward, suffocating silence as hundreds of wealthy elites pretended not to watch the royal family of New York unravel in public. The warm lighting felt less like luxury now and more like the glaring, inescapable heat of an interrogation room.
Arthur turned his head slowly, looking up at Maya. The anger in his eyes wasn't directed at her anymore; it was replaced by a profound, shuddering dread.
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"How did you know?" Arthur asked quietly, his voice rasped with age and the terrifying realization of his own mortality.
"Because people who belong in this family don't look at their own reflections with hatred, Mr. Sterling," Maya replied smoothly, her face remaining a mask of disciplined professionalism. "And people who pour wine don't usually wear surgical gloves when they handle the decanter."
