Benjamin didn’t have time to think. He took the stairs two at a time, racing through the house and checking every bedroom, one after another. Master bedroom, guest room—he searched them all, turning each space upside down, but Marguerite was nowhere to be found.
Anxiety clawed at his chest. He fumbled for his phone, hands trembling as he dialed Marguerite’s number.
A cold, automated voice answered: “We’re sorry, the person you’re calling is unavailable at the moment…”
Refusing to give up, he tried again. And again. On the third attempt, the line went straight to voicemail—her phone was turned off.
Benjamin stood there, phone clutched in his hand, paralyzed by a surge of dread.
—
Across town, Marguerite, exhausted and numb, made her way to a hotel owned by the Murphy Corporation—a discreet, luxurious place tucked away behind the city’s bustling streets. The hotel was like a hidden jewel, quiet and elegant, the kind of place Benjamin would never think to look for her.
She stepped into a beautifully appointed suite, dropped her purse onto the plush bed, and collapsed, letting the weight fall from her shoulders. Without hesitation, she pulled out her phone and switched it off, as if that simple act could shut out the sting of tonight’s gala and all its unpleasantness.
For a little while, the silence was soothing. Then, suddenly, the room’s landline shrilled, breaking the calm.
Marguerite frowned, annoyed, but reluctantly rose and picked up the receiver. Her voice was cool and distant. “Hello? I don’t need any service right now, thank you.”
There was a brief silence on the other end, a strange tension humming in the air.


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