Chapter 359: Unexpected Incident
The runway lights pulsed in rhythm with the music, the beat so precise it matched her heartbeat. Emily sat in the VIP section, her gaze fixed on the catwalk, outwardly calm, though her fingertips gripped the edge of her clutch.
The message she'd sent still had no reply.
The silence felt wrong. Like the calm before a storm.
Suddenly—
A heavy thud echoed from backstage. The lights flickered, and a sharp crackle burst from the speakers. Instantly, the venue erupted into chaos.
"What's happening?"
"Electrical issue?"
"Something's wrong backstage!"
The host tried to maintain control: "Ladies and gentlemen, please remain calm. We're experiencing a minor technical difficulty—"
Before she could finish, someone rushed through the side door, face panicked. "A model fell! Someone call a medic!"
The commotion swelled. Even the VIP section began to stir as security started guiding people to relocate or evacuate. The crowd moved like an invisible hand was pushing them toward designated exits.
Emily immediately turned to find Kate.
Kate had been just two steps behind her, but as the crowd surged, several people wearing staff badges pushed their way between them, physically separating Kate to the opposite side.
"Emily!"
Kate's face went pale with panic. She reached out, trying to push back through, but someone politely blocked her path. "Miss, it's not safe. You need to come with me—"
Emily's eyes turned cold.
This wasn't an accident.
She scanned her surroundings.
The security positioning was too coordinated, as if rehearsed. Several so-called staff members wore matching transparent earpieces. The crowd wasn't being directed to the nearest emergency exit but toward a more circuitous, narrower corridor.
Most critical: she caught a faint scent—like cloying floral sweetness mixed with the bitterness of powdered medicine.
Emily raised her hand in a "call me" gesture, hoping Kate would understand. Kate seemed to catch on and, not daring to waste time, bit her lip and pushed toward the exit.
Emily stood, clutch secured to her wrist, and moved with the crowd, her steps measured and controlled.
Her mind remained razor-sharp. Their objective was to separate her from her people and move her to a location of their choosing.
Right now, her only options were to buy time, find an opening, and create unpredictability.
She deliberately slowed her pace, avoiding the densest part of the crowd, hugging the wall. Her eyes constantly swept for details: surveillance camera angles, emergency exit signs, whether staff badges matched, and who was watching her.
As she approached a door marked "Staff Only," a tall man in a black suit strode toward her, features fairly ordinary but imposing.
"Mrs. Windsor, Mr. Windsor sent me to get you. Please come with me."
Emily stopped, looking up at him.
He'd called her "Mrs. Windsor."
Charles's people would never address her that way, especially in Seraphim where they needed to keep a low profile. Charles himself wouldn't dare publicly acknowledge their relationship here—how could his men possibly call her "Mrs. Windsor"?
At most, they'd say "Ms. Johnson."
Most damning: the man carried the same "floral-medicinal" scent, only stronger, deliberately masked by cologne.
Emily remained composed, her voice steady. "Charles sent you? Where is he now?"
The man hesitated slightly before answering smoothly, "Mr. Windsor is waiting for you in the car outside."
"What are the last digits of the license plate?"
The man's eyes flickered. "It's a vehicle we acquired after arriving in Seraphim. I didn't memorize the number."
Emily smiled faintly, the expression never reaching her eyes.
In the next second, she suddenly raised her hand, slamming her clutch hard into the man's nose—
Crack!
He jerked his head back in pain, instinctively raising his arm to block. Emily caught him off-balance and drove her knee into his stomach. The man grunted, reaching back to grab her wrist.
Emily twisted with his momentum, broke his grip, and caught his thumb.
The man's expression changed, and he immediately switched tactics, sweeping his leg out.
Emily retreated half a step to avoid it, but the high slit in her mist-silver gown, while dramatic, restricted her movement. Her stride was forced shorter, and the fabric snagged, nearly costing her balance.
Another "staff member" rushed her from behind, spray canister in hand.
Emily caught the movement in her peripheral vision. Her instincts screamed. She twisted sideways sharply.
A thin mist sprayed past her hair.
She held her breath and bolted.
She couldn't fight here. The gown slowed her down, she had no weapon, and they had the numbers. All she had was speed—and the element of surprise.
She sprinted toward the nearest emergency exit, only to find the door locked from the outside. The handle wouldn't budge.
Footsteps closed in behind her.
The first man wiped blood from his nose. "Ms. Johnson, don't struggle. We're only asking you to rest somewhere more comfortable."
Emily's laugh was cold. She grabbed a metal vase from a nearby decorative stand—not heavy, but solid.
She whipped around, hurling the vase at his forehead. He raised his arm to block. The vase struck his forearm with a dull thud. He clearly winced but kept advancing.
He closed in. Emily kicked his knee—he buckled. She chopped the side of his neck.
She fought viciously, every move targeting points that would disable.
But the man was clearly no ordinary security guard. His pain tolerance and reflexes were sharp. Even after taking two hits, he gritted his teeth and held on, using the restriction of her gown to force himself into uncomfortably close quarters.
The second man approached again, spray device aimed at her face.
Emily knew she couldn't inhale it. She raised her clutch to block and turned her head, holding her breath, but someone grabbed the strap of her gown. Her movement stuttered, and she unavoidably breathed in just a trace.
The scent was sickeningly sweet.
Her vision blurred. The edges went soft, fuzzy. Dizziness spread rapidly from the back of her skull.
She bit down hard on the tip of her tongue, using the pain to force clarity, then drove her elbow into the man pressing close. She staggered toward the denser part of the crowd—if she could reach the center of the venue, where there were more people and more cameras, they wouldn't dare act so brazenly.
Her legs felt wrong. Heavy. Unresponsive.
She'd barely taken two steps when someone seized her wrist. Another hand clamped over her mouth and nose, cloth soaked in a stronger dose of the drug.
Emily drove her elbow back, grazing the man's ribs, and heard a grunt. She stomped down hard, the pointed heel of her shoe digging in painfully enough that his grip loosened.
She wrenched free, spinning to grab the spray device, but a third man locked his arms around her waist from behind, dragging her deeper into the corridor.