The Artemis Tower multipurpose ballrooms were a marvel of sterile corporate excess forced into celebration. All four wings had been opened into one massive, ridiculously extravagant floor, framed by two floating mezzanines on each end. Crystal chandeliers threw fractured, cold light across imported marble. The ambient hum of overworked air-conditioning fought a losing battle against the body heat of three hundred elite guests.
The string quartet transitioned into a sweeping crescendo. The heavy oak double doors swung open.
No one was there.
The threshold was completely empty.
The band froze. A sharp, uncomfortable silence dropped over the room, broken only by the clinking of a single champagne flute. Near the entrance, the wedding coordinator's face went entirely pale. She frantically signaled for the musicians to continue. The band fumbled, then dragged their bows back across the strings, the music returning with a desperate, uneven tempo.
