“Lance Williams called security before passing out,” he says quietly, his voice pitched for only Wes and me to hear. “He’s being transported to the medical unit with Dr. Pines. Initial symptoms suggest poisoning, but not immediately life-threatening.”
“That’s pretty much what Marlie just told me,” I say, glancing her way with a nod.
“Oh my goodness,” comes Val’s voice from much closer than I expected. She’s somehow materialized next to our little group, her talent for inserting herself into dramatic moments truly impressive. “Did you say Lance has been poisoned?”
Her voice carries across the suddenly silent lounge, and it shouldn’t surprise me, the woman is trained to project to the back row of a theater.
Beth’s champagne flute slips from her fingers, shattering against the floor in a spray of glass and bubbles that would make any soap opera director proud.
“KEEP THE CAMERAS ROLLING!” Boomer shouts, his eyes wild with excitement. “This is ratings gold!”
The room erupts in chaos. Guests murmur in confusion and alarm. The trophy wives huddle together, except for Beth, who stands frozen in place like a deer in headlights. The soap husbands posture dramatically, perhaps unsure if this is part of the script, but determined to hit their marks anyway.
And through the commotion, I notice something odd. Harperis watching Beth with an expression that can only be described as satisfaction, her ruby lips curved in a smile that chills me to the bone.
Ransom appears at my side again with a grave expression. “We need to talk,” he says quietly. “Now.”
As the chaos of revelation swirls around us like the most dramatic season finale ever filmed, I can’t help but think that not evenThe Vengeful and the Vaincould have scripted a more shocking twist.
The night that was supposed to be about staged drama had turned into something far more dangerous—and unlike soap operas, there would be no commercial break before the final confrontation.
CHAPTER 25
“Trixie! Ransom! Get up here right now!” Boomer’s voice cuts through the chaos like a director calling for his stars. “The cameras need you front and center!”
Before Ransom can share whatever urgent information he’s discovered, we find ourselves being ushered toward the stage area as the spotlights swing to illuminate us with unforgiving brightness.
The crowd parts like the Red Sea, their expressions a mixture of confusion, excitement, and the particular brand of voyeuristic thrill that comes from watching someone else’s disaster unfold in real time.
“Now this is what I call a season finale!” Marlie laughs while floating above us with her arms spread wide. “Though the lighting is all wrong. InThe Bitter and the Beautiful, we always used amber lighting for dramatic revelations.”
Boomer puts his microphone to his lips, and his eyes are wild with the manic gleam of a producer who’s just realized his reality show has become far too real. “Ladies and gentlemen, as you’ve just heard, our very own Dr. Luca Carrington Jr. has beenhospitalized in a shocking twist that even our writers couldn’t have scripted!” He swings around to us. “Trixie, Ransom—as the ship’s resident busybody and security chief—what can you tell us about this developing situation?”
The camera zooms in so close I can practically count my pores. Ransom’s hand finds the small of my back, and the reassuring pressure grounds me despite the absurdity of the moment.
“I think,” I say slowly, “that before we discuss Dr. Luca, we should talk about Madison Rothschild.”
A collective gasp ripples through the audience. Even the camera operators seem to lean in.
“What about Madison?” Val demands, stepping forward in her scarlet gown, champagne sloshing dangerously close to the rim of her flute.
“Yes,” Beth echoes, her voice high and tight. “What about poor Madison?”
Ransom takes the microphone from Boomer, who’s too delighted by this unexpected drama to protest. “Madison Rothschild was investigating all of you,” he states with his voice far too calm for daytime television. “She was collecting information and secrets that she planned to reveal on this very show.”
“Is this really the time?” Val huffs, although her hair seems to bristle with tension.
“I believe it’s exactly the time,” I interject. “Val, Madison discovered something about your charity, didn’t she?”
Val’s perfectly contoured face freezes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“And Beth,” I continue, turning to the trembling blonde in pink. “Madison found out about your past. Yourrealpast.”
“It’s like watching amateurs try to recreate my courtroom confession scene from season twelve,” Marlie comments, floating cross-legged above Beth’s head. “However, I do appreciate the tension. Very nice buildup, Trixie.”
From the sidelines, I notice Wes typing furiously on his phone, his captain’s demeanor never wavering despite the drama unfolding before him. He’s contacting Quinn, I assume. And more than likely requesting reinforcements.
“This is ridiculous,” Val snaps, but her voice has lost its commanding edge. “You can’t possibly?—”
