Chapter 4 - The Trap is Set
By 10:00 PM, the party had begun to wind down. Valets were bringing cars around to the front circular driveway, and guests were trickling out into the cool night air, clutching party favors and calling out drunken goodnights.
Amara was in Daniel’s private study on the second floor, wiping down the heavy mahogany desk.
The study was Daniel’s sanctuary. It was a massive room with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a grand fireplace, and a leather sofa where he often crashed when working late. On the wall behind the desk hung a large portrait of his late mother, a soft-spoken woman with the same grey eyes as Daniel.
Amara paused in front of the portrait, dusting the gilded frame gently.
“He’s a good man,” Amara whispered to the portrait. “He just picked the wrong person.”
The heavy oak door to the study clicked open.
Amara turned, expecting to see Daniel.
Instead, Vanessa walked in, locking the door behind her with a soft click.
She was alone. She had a glass of red wine in her hand, her eyes bright with a dangerous, unstable energy.
“Beautiful room, isn't it?” Vanessa said, pacing slowly across the Persian rug toward the desk. “When Danny and I are married, I’m turning this place into a morning room. White paint, light furniture. All these depressing books are going into storage.”
“Mr. Cole loves this room,” Amara said quietly, stepping back from the desk.
“Mr. Cole will love whatever I tell him to love,” Vanessa replied, taking a sip of wine.
She set the glass down on the mahogany desk—right on top of an unprotected leather blotter, leaving a ring of wet red wine.
Amara’s jaw tightened, but she didn't move to clean it.
Vanessa walked over to the corner of the room, where a antique glass display case sat. Inside were several valuable items Daniel’s father had collected: rare coins, vintage pocket watches, and a high-value diamond-encrusted tie bar that had belonged to his grandfather.
Vanessa opened the glass cabinet.
“What are you doing, Miss Hale?” Amara asked, her pulse beginning to race.
Vanessa reached inside and pulled out the diamond tie bar. It was an heirloom worth at least forty thousand dollars, set with three flawless solitaire diamonds.
She held it up to the light, letting it sparkle.
“It’s pretty,” Vanessa said softly. “Danny’s grandfather wore it when he founded the family firm.”
“Miss Hale, please put that back,” Amara said, her voice rising slightly. “Mr. Cole keeps that case locked.”
“He leaves the key in his desk drawer,” Vanessa smiled, turning the tie bar over in her fingers. “I know all his secrets, Amara. Just like I know yours.”
She slipped the diamond tie bar directly into the pocket of Amara’s apron, which was resting on a chair nearby.
Amara gasped, stepping forward. “Take that out!”
Vanessa moved like a strike team.
She didn't just step back—she grabbed her own green dress near the collar and pulled hard, tearing the delicate silk seam open down to her waist. Then she threw her wine glass against the brick fireplace, letting it smash into a hundred red-stained pieces.
“Help!” Vanessa suddenly screamed at the top of her lungs, her voice shrill and hysterical. “Help me! Someone help!”
Amara stood frozen in absolute horror.
Vanessa tossed herself onto the floor, pulling her hair wild around her face, and began sobbing frantically.
“Get away from me!” Vanessa shrieked toward the locked door. “Don't touch me! Put it back!”
Footsteps thundered down the hallway outside. Heavy fists slammed against the thick oak door.
“Vanessa? Amara?” Daniel’s voice roared from the hall. “Open this door!”
Vanessa crawled across the floor toward the door, her green dress ripped, her face wet with real tears, her voice shaking violently.
“Danny! Danny, help me! She’s trying to steal your grandfather’s tie bar! She attacked me!”
The door handle rattled furiously. A second later, Daniel used his master key, slamming the heavy door wide open.
He burst into the room, followed immediately by Chloe Vance, two security guards, and Claire Bennett—the older woman who had been a friend of Daniel’s mother.
The scene in the room was horrifying.
Vanessa was cowering on the floor near the smashed wine glass, her dress torn, sobbing uncontrollably.
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Amara was standing near the desk, pale as a sheet, holding a cleaning rag.
And sticking out of the right pocket of Amara’s uniform apron, clearly visible under the bright chandelier lights, was the glittering gold and diamond edge of his grandfather’s tie bar.
