“Miss Hudson, we have prepared a corpse identical to you, just as you requested. It will be delivered to your wedding with Mr. Warhol in ten days.”
Hearing the voice on the other end of the line, Violet Hudson felt a small knot of tension unwind inside her.
“Alright. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. This is our job. Please rest assured—no one will ever suspect a thing.”
With that guarantee, she exhaled, the weight on her chest easing just a little.
After confirming the final details once more, she ended the call and pushed open the door to the private room.
The noise inside had been a constant hum, a mix of voices overlapping, but the moment she stepped in, silence fell like a curtain.
Grayson Warhol, seated at the center, stood up at once. Taking her hand, he looked at her with deep concern and signed, “Violet, you were in the restroom for so long. Are you feeling unwell? Let’s go home now.”
He moved to lead her away.
Looking at the way his eyes held nothing but her, Violet suppressed the bitterness rising in her chest and shook her head.
“I’m fine. Just continue.”
Only after she reassured him several times did Grayson sit back down, still holding her hand.
The lively chatter returned, filling the space again. Then, a voice cut through the noise.
“Grayson, you’re getting married soon. What do you plan to do about that little assistant of yours?”
At those words, Violet’s nails dug into her palm. Her face turned a shade paler.
Someone beside the speaker nudged him with an elbow.
“Hey, mind what you say. Violet is right here.”
The man shrugged, unconcerned.
“What does it matter? She can’t hear us anyway. I was just curious how Grayson plans to handle his little lover.”
All eyes turned to Grayson.
