Chapter 6 - The Morning After the Storm
The morning sun cut sharply through the heavy velvet drapes of the bridal suite, casting bright geometric patterns across the floor.
I sat at the mahogany writing desk by the window, sipping a cup of hot black coffee, looking as calm and composed as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. But beneath my serene exterior, my mind was running at a million miles an hour.
A sharp, urgent knock rattled the heavy oak door of the suite.
I stood up smoothly, walking over to the peephole. Standing in the hallway was Detective Marcus Vance of the City Police Department’s Major Crimes Division, flanked by two uniformed officers. Behind them stood Anton, looking exhausted, his eyes bloodshot and rimmed with dark circles from staying awake all night at the hospital.
I unlocked the deadbolt and pulled the door open wide.
"Clara," Anton breathed, stepping forward immediately and pulling me into a desperate, bone-crushing hug. "Thank God you’re safe."
"I'm fine, Anton," I murmured, burying my face in his shoulder before turning my gaze toward the detective. "Good morning, Officer. How can I help you?"
Detective Vance stepped into the room, his sharp, analytical eyes scanning every corner of the luxury suite before landing squarely on me. He wore a crisp gray suit, and his posture radiated unyielding authority.
"Good morning, Mrs. Sterling," Detective Vance said, his voice deep and gravelly. "I’m Detective Vance. I’m afraid we need to ask you a few questions regarding the incident at your reception last night."
"Of course," I replied, gesturing toward the sitting area with a polite, unflinching wave of my hand. "Please, have a seat. I want to help in any way I can."
We all sat down. Anton took my hand, holding it so tightly his knuckles were pale.
"As you're likely aware," Detective Vance began, pulling a small leather notebook from his breast pocket, "toxicology reports from last night confirm that Doña Carmela ingested a near-fatal dose of Somnolin—a powerful, restricted synthetic sedative that causes complete neuromuscular paralysis within minutes."
Anton flinched as if he’d been physically struck. "Somnolin? My mother doesn't even have a prescription for that! Where would she even get something like that?"
"That’s what we intend to find out," Detective Vance said, his eyes narrowing slightly as he fixed his gaze on me. "According to our preliminary interviews with the banquet staff, the glass Doña Carmela drank from was originally placed at your seat, Mrs. Sterling. Witnesses saw you swap the glasses moments before the toast."
The temperature in the room plummeted.
Anton whipped his head around to look at me, a flicker of genuine confusion crossing his face. "Clara? You swapped glasses with my mother? Why would you do that?"
This was the exact moment Doña Carmela had engineered. This was the trap.
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If I panicked, if I stammered or lied, Detective Vance would immediately suspect me of trying to poison myself—or worse, framing my mother-in-law.
I didn't blink. I didn't break eye contact. Instead, I let out a soft, melancholy sigh, letting my expression shift into one of deep, vulnerable embarrassment.
