Page 27 of Daddy Brigadier

LEXI

“Eat one,” the man in the black suit commands, his hands crossed in front of him, and there isn’t a hint of a smile to suggest he’s joking.

“Excuse me?” I quirk an eyebrow, balancing the tray of appetizers.

Suddenly, the catering manager rushes over, clearly flustered. “Step aside,” she barks, snatching the tray from my grasp before quickly sampling one of the items herself.

The man nods, satisfied as she hurries through the door.

I shoot him a puzzled glance before retreating into the kitchen.

“What the fuck was that?” I ask one of my colleagues.

“That’s their way of making sure the food isn’t poisoned.” While it may seem excessive, I understand their precautions.

“What do you know about the clients?” I ask.

“There’s a bigwig hosting a birthday party—billionaires everywhere. I even heard the mayor is here.”

“Wow!” I respond, feigning surprise, while secretly focusing on the fact that my Brigadier is just beyond that door, and I need to see him.

“Can you cover for me?” I ask, removing my apron. “I need to use the bathroom.”

“I got you,” she says, barely glancing at me while arranging the food on the tray.

I seize my bag from the locker, quickly hurrying into the bathroom. Inside a small stall, I slip into my elegant black dress and release my hair from its clip, letting it cascade down. Standing in front of the mirror, I apply a bold, deep red lipstick that clings to my lips, then secure my mysterious black mask in place.

After tossing the bag into the trash can, I exit the bathroom and head back into the kitchen.

The catering staff navigates around me as if my presence might disrupt their meticulous work. I deliberately turn, feigning a sense of confusion.

“Ma’am, is there something I can assist you with?” the catering manager inquires.

I place my hand over my chest as I ask, “Is there any dairy in the food?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Oh, I’m glad I asked.” I lightly touch my neck, mimicking a protective gesture against allergens.

“We can prepare something special for you,” she suggests.

“Oh, no, thank you. Honestly, my dress is so snug that I wouldn’t be able to eat anything tonight anyway.”

I approach the security guard, my head held high, as if I can’t fathom why he would think of stopping me. Just as I reach for the door handle, his hand firmly grips my arm.

“What are you doing in here?” he asks, more than a hint of suspicion in his voice.

“I was just checking on food allergies,” I explain.

He narrows his eyes, weighing the truth of my words.

“She came to talk to me,” the catering manager interjects, hurrying by him with another tray, casually tasting a piece of meat as she passes.

Her affirmation puts him at ease, and I confidently follow her inside.

The room is huge and brightly lit, and the guest—mysterious, intense, and exuding an undeniable aura of power.

Valentin’s birthday party is the masquerade event to be at. If you want to be seen, this is the place to be—everyone who’s anyone is here, all dressed to impress. But who exactly is everyone?