Chapter 6 - PACKING THE SILK
What followed was twenty minutes of pure, chaotic desperation.
Fiona was sobbing hysterically, running back and forth down the hallway, frantically pulling designer dresses off their hangers and throwing them onto the floor of her bedroom. The cater-waiters she had hired quietly packed up their silver trays and walked out, refusing to be caught in the crossfire.
Julian ran into the master bedroom, pulling suitcases out of the closet, his hands shaking so violently he could barely operate the zippers.
"Sloan... please," he begged, running back into the living room where I was sitting calmly on the sofa, sipping a cup of black coffee. "We can talk about this! We don't have to ruin everything! We can go to counseling! I’ll unlock the door, I'll never lay a hand on you again—"
"You're right, you won't," I replied, setting my cup down. "Because you won't be within five hundred feet of me for the next two years."
"Where are we supposed to go?!" Fiona wailed from the corridor, dragging two overstuffed suitcases behind her, her silk gown rumpled and stained. "We don't have a hotel booked! My friends aren't answering their phones!"
"You have plenty of family in Indiana, Fiona," I said sweetly. "I'm sure one of them has a spare couch."
Julian glared at me, his eyes red and brimming with tears of fury and humiliation. "You planned this. You set us up."
"No, Julian," I corrected him, looking him straight in the eye. "You locked me in a dark kitchen and told me to prepare sixty dishes. I just made sure the first one was served cold."
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At precisely 12:50 PM, two uniform Cook County Sheriff deputies stepped out of the private elevator.
"Julian Miller? Fiona Miller?" the lead deputy asked, his hand resting casually on his utility belt. "Your time is up. Please exit the premises immediately."
