The champagne glass hit me before I understood someone had thrown it.

On Friday night, the Grand Ballroom of the Drake Hotel glittered beneath crystal chandeliers, a mirror image of the night my life changed at Bellamy House.

Except this time, I wasn't carrying a silver tray.

I wore an emerald green silk gown with a low back that intentionally showed off the edge of the fading surgical dressing on my flank—a silent, defiant statement. My hair was swept up in an elegant chignon, and around my throat rested a vintage diamond choker that Damian’s grandmother had worn.

When the heavy double doors opened and Damian led me into the room, arm in arm, the entire room ceased breathing.

Damian looked like a king arriving to survey a conquered province. His tuxedo was tailored to perfection, his posture lethal and majestic. But every eye wasn't on him—they were on me. The whispers swept through the room like dry leaves in a gust of wind.

*“Is that the server?”*

*“The one who took the hit for Luca?”*

*“Why is she wearing the Vescari diamonds?”*

Across the room, standing beneath an arch of white orchids, stood Julian Vance.

He was fifty, trim, with silver-streaked hair and the practiced, oily smile of a career politician. When his eyes locked onto mine, his champagne glass wobbled in his hand. The color drained from his face before he forced his smile back into place.

“Damian,” Julian called out, pushing through the crowd with open arms. “My dear boy! I was terrified you wouldn’t make it after the… tragic unpleasantness at Bellamy House.”

Damian didn’t take the proffered hand. He stood motionless, his arm anchored around my waist, his expression impassive.

“I wouldn’t miss your anniversary for the world, Julian,” Damian said smoothly. “Allow me to introduce Miss Emma Carter.”

Julian’s eyes flicked to me, a flash of pure hatred veiled beneath a veneer of polite charm. “Ah, yes. The heroic young woman. You look radiant, my dear. Fully recovered, I trust?”

“Almost, Mr. Vance,” I said, holding his gaze with steady, cool confidence. “The glass left a mark, but fortunately, good surgeons know how to cut out rotten pieces before they spread.”

Julian’s smile tightened into a brittle grimace. “Indeed.”

“Where is Sal Gallo tonight, Julian?” Damian asked, his tone so conversational he might have been asking about the weather.

Julian stiffened, his fingers curling tightly around his flute. “I… I have no idea who that is, Damian. You know I don’t mix with street elements.”

“Strange,” Damian murmured, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping into a register that only Julian and I could hear. “Because Sal’s courier dropped off a gift at my home three nights ago. He mentioned you were planning quite an exhibition for this evening.”

Julian swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Damian, you’re mistaken. I would never—”

“Enjoy your party, cousin,” Damian interrupted smoothly, patting Julian’s shoulder with a heavy, deliberate thud that made the older man flinch. “Have another drink. While you still can.”

Damian guided me away toward the edge of the dance floor, leaving Julian standing pale and sweating under the hot glare of the chandeliers.

“He’s terrified,” I whispered, looking up at Damian as the orchestra began a slow, melancholic waltz.

“He is cornered,” Damian corrected quietly. “And a cornered rat always looks for an escape hatch. Marco has the basement exits covered. The police commissioner is sitting at table four—on my payroll, not Julian’s. When Julian tries to slip out to meet Gallo, we take them both.”

Damian turned to me, offering his hand. “Dance with me, Emma.”

It wasn't a request.

I placed my hand in his, and he pulled me onto the parquet floor. His hand rested firmly against the small of my back, right next to my healing scar, his touch radiating heat through the thin silk. We moved with seamless grace, spinning beneath the light of a thousand crystals.

For a moment, the danger, the feud, and the violence evaporated. There was only the rhythm of the music, the scent of his skin, and the raw, electric current passing between us.

“You handled him beautifully,” Damian murmured, his gaze resting on my lips.

“I don’t like bullies,” I replied softly. “Especially ones who hide behind other people’s blood.”

“Emma,” he said, his voice dropping into that deep, husky timber that made my pulse race. “When this is over… I don’t want you to leave Lake Forest.”

My breath caught. “Damian… my life isn't this. I’m not a socialite. I don’t belong in ballrooms.”

“To hell with the ballrooms,” he said with sudden, fierce intensity. “Luca loves you. And I…”

He stopped, his eyes darkening with a raw emotion he couldn't hide.

Before he could finish the sentence, the grand chandelier above the center of the dance floor exploded in a cascade of blinding sparks.

The ballroom plunged into pitch-black darkness.