CHAPTER 2 — The Woman Who Sent the Warning
The mother's fingers remained pressed against her temple.
"I truly apologize," she said, forcing a weak smile. "I suffer from migraines. They come without warning."
The host's smile never faltered.
"Of course," he replied smoothly. "Perhaps a few minutes of fresh air?"
He was disappointed.
Not angry.
Disappointed.
Because neither woman had touched the wine.
The daughter lowered her eyes, pretending to comfort her mother while secretly typing beneath the table.
Who warned us?
A reply appeared almost instantly.
Don't answer. Cameras are everywhere. Leave as soon as you can. The cellar. Midnight. Come alone.
Her heartbeat quickened.
The host politely excused himself to greet another arriving guest.
The moment he disappeared into the crowd, mother and daughter finally breathed.
"We're being watched," the mother whispered.
"I know."
"The text came from someone inside this house."
Before either of them could say another word, an elderly butler approached.
His face remained expressionless.
"Madam, your medication."
He quietly placed a small bottle of water beside her.
As he turned away, his hand brushed the tablecloth.
A folded napkin slipped into the mother's lap.
She waited until he was gone.
Inside the napkin were only six handwritten words.
Trust no one wearing a red tie.
May you like
The mother slowly looked around the dining room.
Nearly half the male guests—including the host—were wearing elegant red silk ties.
