"Are you nervous?" Max asked as the pair strolled up the trail, hand in hand. Zara, who's focus until then had been on the ground before her—she nearly sprained her ankle stepping out of the limousine—hadn't realised that she held his hand in a death-grip. She loosened her grasp and smiled sheepishly at him.

"Just a little..." Her focus shifted to his rugged appearance, and she inadvertently stopped him in his tracks, tugging at his hand, "Hold up." She said, and began fixing his collar. When satisfied, she reached up to straighten his hair. Zara was unable to explain to herself why she was doing it; her hands had a mind of their own. Somehow, it felt right.

Max watched her in silence, a smirk on his face. After her hands floated away, he tossed his head, then pushed the loose tendrils numerous times behind his ears. "Better now, doll?" Hands on hips, gaze lost in the distance, Max looked like a superhero that forgot their costume.

Zara giggled, looping her arm through his. "Much better."

He didn't look like he got mauled by a bear anymore.

The two kept walking, each lost in their own thoughts. As soon as they reached the front door, it slowly opened, as if it had sensed their arrival. That notion dissipated, however, when the butler materialised, greeting them with a stoic expression. Unfortunately for Zara, it was the same butler that had the pleasure to first-handily experience her ignorance and crude mannerisms. Hopefully, he didn't recognise her.

"Welcome," the butler said, a strained smile as he dipped his head. She forced herself to maintain eye-contact, even though his face creeped her out, and reflexively shrank away towards Max's side. It was clear that this man rarely smiled, or felt anything other than resentment.

"Ah, Herman. So glad you have tonight's shift." Max smiled, placing his hand on Zara's lower back so she could go through. Zara lifted her skirts and slowly stepped in, grateful for a justification to keep her head down. She could feel the man's beady eyes drilling holes in the back of her head.

The only response Max received from the man was a conceited snort, but it didn't seem to bother him in the least. "Happy you feel the same way!" He continued brightly, patting the butler's shoulder.

Zara looked up, and could tell by the slight twitch in the guy's left eye that he absolutely did not feel the same way.

"Follow me," he said instead, dipping his head towards Zara exclusively before swivelling on his heel and marching away. She immediately began tailing him, apprehensive of what could happen if she didn't. On the news, or maybe in a magazine, she had learned that some people had their domestics taught martial arts, in the case of emergencies. As she took in the butler's overall appearance and demeanour, she couldn't rule out that possibility.

The last thing she wanted to do was fight him.

He directed them into a room, the cloakroom, to be exact. A singular rack that extended down the length of a wall held the coats of all the guests. It looked tightly packed as if the addition of only one extra coat could cause the entire contraption to explode.

A small dinner, he said. Only the inner circle, he said. Well, there are a hell of a lot of people.

They abandoned their respective garments by dumping them in the butler's waiting arms, then made their way towards the back of the house, where Zara assumed the dinner would be held.

"Don't you think it's a little weird that you're acting so formal in your own house?" She brought her clutch to her chest, acutely aware of her heart thumping against her ribcage. As they neared the cacophony of voices, she became increasingly anxious. She prepared to make a good impression.

"I don't technically live here," he said absentmindedly, staring straight ahead. He snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her to him, nearly making her misstep again. "Why, you wanted to go somewhere more...private?"

Zara squirmed away, shaking his arm off, and flipped her hair over a shoulder without breaking her stride. "Stop insinuating things. It was one kiss, don't get too caught up with yourself."

The look he tossed her was so potent, she could feel it without having to turn her head. "I'm not. I'm caught up with you—wouldn't have suggested it otherwise."

"Let's agree to disagree," Zara said quickly, reaching out to take his hand. Arguing with him was like fighting a losing battle. He always found a way to flip your words to victimise himself, leaving you with the urge to head-bang a wall.

At the end of the vaulted corridor was a large archway, decorated with the same floral pattern Zara had seen throughout the rest of the mansion. On the other side was a brightly-lit hall, and in the distance, she caught a glimpse of the other guests: a few stood around in tightly-knit groups, others roamed the place mindlessly.

"Don't feel compelled to answer every question they throw at you." Max had increased his pace somewhere during his statement, pulling her along the same way a parent did with a toddler, so she now struggled to keep up with him. His sudden agitation was putting her on edge as well, but she didn't question it.

They entered the hall, and it was like they were thrown under a spotlight. Everybody's eyes were suddenly on them.

"Why are they staring at us?" Zara asked through gritted teeth, unable to smile at the people who were now whispering. She squeezed Max's hand again, her forehead perspiring even at room temperature.

"Maybe because of my sling. But they've also never seen me at an event with a woman before, so that's a pretty big thing. It could be anything, really, these morons will find anything to gossip about. " She looked up at him, startled, and noticed that he was scanning the crowd, a solemn look on his face.

Who is he looking for?

She also began looking around, out of curiosity rather than with a specific goal in mind.

All the men, of different heights and widths, wore suits similar to Max's, just in different shades of black and blue. They all looked either middle-aged, or relatively aged, and it was soon clear to her that Max was the youngest male in the room. Only one man stood out against the ocean of blacks and blues, and it was because his suit was a stark contrast to the others. The colour of cream, which complemented his nest of black curly hair, caught her attention—and there was something about his eccentricity that had Zara's eyes glued to him, even though the man had his back to her.

The women were a different story, their outfits seemed picked out of fashion magazines. Each and every one of their evening gowns had a distinct style, it's own story to tell. They were so captivating, with their perfect posture, or even their comportment, that Zara felt even more of an impostor than she already did.

It was like taking a step back in time, in an era where a country's social hierarchy had distinct qualities and features that distinguished one class from the other. She felt inadequate, an abomination, and it had only taken a couple of stares and murmurs in a language she didn't understand.

You don't belong with these people and you know that.

It was a mistake coming here in the first place, you should come up with an excuse so you can leave and go back to where you belong.

They probably pity you. You're a bird in burrowed feathers, a crow pretending to be a peacock.

Max abruptly pulled her away from the entrance and towards a relatively isolated corner of the room, and Zara soon felt her heart rate slowing.

A minute longer in the centre of the attention, and she would've most likely passed out.

He stepped in front of her, his height shielding her from the looks and insults of the other guests. There was something unsettling in the way he looked at her, a protectiveness whose intensity Zara hadn't seen before.

"Listen. I need to go and talk to my father, there's something—"

"You can't leave me here alone." Something in his voice gave her an unexplainable sense of foreboding, which caused tingle at the bottom of her skull, raising the hairs on the back of her neck. It was hard to tell whether her instincts were right or not, because a lot of it depended on the atmosphere, on the circumstances she was in.

They rarely failed her; she had predicted a catastrophe the day of her gang's botched burglary attempt, but when she had voiced her concern to someone else she had been taken for a madwoman. Zara decided to not bring it up, but not brush it off as paranoia either; she would simply be observant, and wary of the environment.

Max began to speak, giving her a half-baked explanation as to why he had to abandon her to social anxiety, but Zara's attention had been caught by the man in the creme-suit, who was ambling towards their general direction. He caught her staring and smiled from underneath his thick beard, and in that moment, Zara knew that he was coming for them.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, then Max's perplexed voice, "Do you understand?"

Zara hadn't understood a thing because she hadn't been listening—she had been captivated by the man who was now only a few feet away from them.

Max turned, following the direction of her gaze, then swivelled back to face her, cursing heavily under his breath.

"What do we have here?" The man stopped right beside Zara, a little too close for her liking, "Maximilian, why haven't you introduced me to your lovely lady friend?" He elbowed Max's arm, receiving a blood-chilling glare in return. "I am Gabriel Salvador-Marquez, at your service," he drawled, lifting Zara's hand to his lips to plant a kiss, an impish glint in his eye. His cologne was too overpowering, and the more time she spent in his presence the more light-headed she became.

"I'm Zara," she said, her voice sounding so small and weak in comparison to his baritone.

"A pleasure to meet you, Zara."

She wondered what this Gabriel may have done to get on Max's bad side; he seemed to be charming, despite the unruly facial hair which had left a weird itch on the back of her hand and the strong smell of musk. She really wanted to scratch that itch, but it would be rude to do so.

"What do you want?" Max growled, interrupting their small-talk by taking a half-step towards him. Gabriel responded to the animalistic threat with a broad smile, and Zara noticed that he had a golden canine, which audaciously glinted at her.

"It is Thanksgiving. We are meant to be thankful for being able to spend a wonderful evening with our co-workers, which I consider family. " There was a passive-aggressive undertone to his statement, but Zara couldn't quite understand the reference he was making. Probably something only an associate could understand, an inside joke in the office.

"What does that have to do with what I just asked you?" The bad vibes rolled off Max in waves, making Zara shift uncomfortably in place. A couple of waiters were buzzing around, holding out silver trays cluttered with various types of finger-food, so she was tempted to leave the two men to dispute amongst themselves and quell her hunger. As long as she was standing there, observing them, they would remain polite with one another.

Gabriel's smile faltered, but the intensity of his gaze didn't.

"Gentlemen, it's not polite to argue in front of a lady." A familiar voice stopped the incoming verbal altercation between the two men, and they all turned to find Roman standing there with a grimace on his face.

By his side was a woman that looked like a model, with sun-kissed skin and long blonde hair tied up in a sleek ponytail. Her strapless dress, which showed off her voluptuous chest, was the colour of a night-sky, with silver sparkles resembling stars trailing down the slit. Her diamond jewellery completed the glamorous, yet effort-less look, making her look stunning.

If Zara's self-esteem was already in the dumps, now it had plummeted below ground.

The men grumbled in embarrassment, and Zara caught Max staring unabashedly at his cousin's date.

She was overcome with the sudden urge to slap his face for being disrespectful. No, she wasn't jealous.

"Hi, I'm Jasmine," she said cheerfully, sticking out a hand. Zara shook it limply, forcing herself not to be contemptuous in the face of jubilance itself. "And this is Roman," she added, patting his arm.

Well, she seems nice.

"We've met before," He said, throwing daggers at Maximilian with his eyes. He also didn't seem too thrilled about his cousin's ogling.

Join the club.

"Yeah. I'm Zara," she said for the second time that night, hoping it would be the last.

"Would you like to come join us? They are serving this amazing goat-cheese crostini, you should totally try it. Except they probably won't come all the way down here, they're pretty busy over there as it is."

Zara blinked, unable to formulate a coherent sentence in her mind. It was impossible to dislike this girl. Unlike the one from the shop, she seemed to be genuine.

"Yeah, I'd love to," Zara said quietly, and without asking, Jasmine looped her arm through hers.

"It'll be quick, I promise," Max called out as the two girls drifted away, but Zara was suddenly more interested in the red velvet curtains than in his empty words.

-:-

The rest of the evening drifted along pleasantly. As she learned more about Jasmine and Roman, Zara found herself opening up as well, talking about her school and future career goals. Having someone listen to what she had to say, out of legitimate interest rather than politeness, was truly rewarding and something she didn't experience every day.

The only time she would fall silent was when the conversation shifted to a topic she either knew nothing about or had no opinion to share. Every time a waiter wandered by, Zara would grab an appetiser, nod empathetically to whatever was being said, then nibble on it, her attention miles away from where she stood.

She would use moments like these to casually look over to where Max was standing, on the other side of the room. He was talking animatedly to another man, much older by the looks of it, and at one point they even left the room, to continue their discussion out of ear-shot from the others. The hand gestures were sharp, angular, so the argument must've been heated.

Soon enough, the crowd began to gravitate towards the table in the middle of the hall. Someone must've announced that dinner was ready, because all the waiters hurried out in single-file, like worker ants.

"We should get going," Roman said, gulping the last of his champagne.

"Do you know where you're sitting?" Jasmine asked, as they slowly made their way towards the middle as well.

"Anywhere I guess...is there some sort of seating plan?" Nearing the table, the small place cards came into view, the names written in golden cursive. All which she didn't recognise.

Oh God, now I'm going to have to look through every single—

A warm hand took its place on her forearm, and her head snapped towards its source. Green eyes met hers: magnetic, piercing her very soul.

"We're sitting right towards the front—Excuse me," Maximilian squeezed her arm then took her hand, side-stepping a man that looked a little too eager to take his seat. He brought her to the far end of the table—the one which was the most illuminated, as it had a crystal chandelier hanging right above it—and gestured towards her seat.

A place card with her full name sat regally behind her plate, giving Zara a sense of belonging she had long yearned to feel. The formal table setting of at least eight pieces was daunting, however: forks, knives, and spoons, three different drinking glasses, and three plates of different sizes, all displayed neatly and methodically before her.

She stared at them with perplexity—why did they need so many different pieces of cutlery? The notion was simply ridiculous to her. A normal person dined with a single plate and only one fork and one knife, not to mention a single cup. It must've taken the servers hours to set the table, never mind choosing flowers which coordinated with the embroidered tablecloth. The final result was remarkable, she had to admit.

Max sat down on her right, the last person on that side of the table and right beside whoever was meant to sit at the head. It was the only place that was empty—all the others were filled with chattering guests, who talked amongst themselves in hushed tones.

The tingling soon returned, along with the arrival of the final guest. Without saying a word, not even an apology, he pushed the chair back and stood at the head of the table, a somber, menacing look on his face. His resemblance to Maximilian was striking. He looked like an older and wearier copy, and Zara immediately put two and two together; he was the father of the empire.

A hush suddenly fell upon the table—the aura emanating from him was one of great wealth and power, and Zara didn't dare look him in the eye. Nor didn't everyone else; the only person who kept his head held high was Maximilian.

She felt his hand on her thigh, and her heart slid down from her throat back to the place where it belonged. Yet, her other leg still trembled, and her mouth felt dry.

"Ladies and gentlemen." There was a dramatic pause, allowing his booming voice to be carried down the length of the table then back up to its beginning. It was like Zeus himself was speaking, the three words reverberating in Zara's skull. "I would like to welcome those who are present tonight, it is your attendance that makes this dinner truly memorable." He smiled, but to Zara, it came across as cold, and emotionless.

"We are gathered today, to celebrate Thanksgiving, and although it is not a holiday we Spaniards celebrate, it does allow us to reflect on the good things in life, like that wonderful champagne I have been serving..." He motioned grandiosely towards the waiters lining the edges of the hall, that smile never leaving his face.

Chuckles and even laughter circled the table, and even Maximilian glanced over at her, amusement in his eyes.

"Or even this year's business prosperity," Rubair continued, his voice even louder than before, "but what we should truly be thankful for are the unwavering foundations on which our great company has been built upon; family, familia. In this business, one must demand loyalty because, without it, one doesn't go very far..." He waggled his finger, the speech taking a more sinister turn, "if your foundations waver if your family betrays you...then it is time to rid yourself of them, for they are no longer an ally, but an enemy." He spat the last word, the vitriol in his voice palpable.

Nobody could've prepared Zara for what would happen next.

Nobody could've predicted the ensuing massacre.

Everyone held their breath.

Rubair reached into his dinner jacket and pulled out a handgun. With a primal growl, he cocked it and aimed straight at the chest of the man across the table. At Gabriel.

Two rapid shots and his chest was embellished with two holes, inches apart. Crimson spread across his chest. His eyes remained open, staring.

With a small gurgle, he slumped forwards, planting his head in the pristine ceramic plate.

Zara sat there, paralysed in fear, still coming to terms with what had happened.

Then, everything became a blur.

Screams.

Bullets whizzed through the air, hitting their targets with infallible accuracy.

Her mind was screaming, her ears ringed incessantly, her body convulsed in shock.

She mechanically turned her head towards the killer, who was now struggling against Maximilian.

Chaos raged around them, everyone who was still alive had escaped the room. Only the deceased remained, bent lifelessly over their chairs and tables.

A final bang whistled through the air.

Numbness began to spread through her body, beginning at the tips of her toes and rising all the way up to her chest, which suddenly burned with a pain that was unimaginable. Slowly, head trembling, she lowered her gaze, resting it on the gaping hole above her left breast. Blood began to trickle out, staining the dress she had so meticulously picked out. Dark spots began to cloud her vision, and her whole body felt heavy as if she was being slowly dragged down into an abyss of nothingness.

She laid against the cold, hard floor, her eyes wide open but all she could see was an impending darkness as she floated in and out of consciousness.

Footsteps rushed over to her, then a face hovered above hers, that handsome face she couldn't believe she wouldn't see anymore.

Please...His voice sounded far away, a whisper.

I love you...

-:-