Sylvie smoothed her black dress one more time. She'd spent half her month's salary on it for this gala, and it still felt like wearing a costume.

"Here we are, miss."

The driver opened her door, and she stepped onto the red carpet. Two men in black suits flanked the entrance, their eyes scanning every guest who approached. Their jackets bulged slightly on the left side. Armed security at a charity gala.

"Press credentials?" A blonde woman at a registration table smiled without warmth.

"Sylvie Carter, New York Tribune."

The woman ran her finger down a printed list. "Here you are. Welcome to the Luna Foundation Gala." She handed over a silver press badge.

"Cocktail hour is in the main ballroom. Dinner at eight. Auction at nine-thirty."

Sylvie clipped the badge to her dress and walked through doors. The entry hall made her stop in her tracks. Marble floors reflected light from crystal chandeliers that hung from a ceiling.

A staircase curved up to the second floor, its bannister carved from what looked like a single piece of mahogany. But it was the people who made her skin prickle with awareness. They moved wrong. That was the only way she could describe it.

"Champagne?" A waiter appeared at her elbow, silent as smoke.

"Thank you." She took a crystal flute and sipped the champagne while watching the crowd.

There was a hierarchy here that had nothing to do with money or social status.

"You must be the journalist." Sylvie turned to find a woman studying her with dark, intelligent eyes. She was tall and elegant, her black skin gleaming in the chandelier light. Her smile reached her eyes, but there was something calculating in her expression.

"I'm sorry?"

"Sylvie Carter, New York Tribune." The woman extended a perfectly manicured hand. "Word travels fast around here. I'm Maya Martins. Myles is my brother."

Sylvie nearly choked on her champagne. "His sister?"

"Surprised?” She chuckled. “Most people expect him to be an only child."

Maya's handshake was firm, and her skin was unusually warm. She stood closer than most people would during a casual conversation, well inside what should have been Sylvie's personal space.

But instead of feeling crowded, Sylvie found it oddly comfortable. "I wasn't expecting to meet family tonight."

"I handle a lot of the business side of things. Plus, someone needs to watch Myles at social events. He has a tendency to make people nervous."

"Is he here?"

"Oh, he's here. Probably upstairs in his office, pretending he's too busy to socialize." Maya sipped her champagne and tilted her head slightly. "What brings the Tribune to our little fundraiser?"

The question sounded casual, but Maya's eyes had sharpened. She was fishing for information.

"The Luna Foundation does good work. Our readers like human interest in stories about charity and community outreach."

"Human interest." Maya's lips curved into a small smile that didn't quite hide her amusement. "That's an interesting way to put it."

Before Sylvie could ask what she meant, the crowd around them shifted. Conversations faltered. Heads turned toward the main staircase like flowers following the sun.

Myles Martins was walking down the stairs.

Sylvie had studied his photographs for hours, but seeing him in person hit her like a physical blow.

He was exactly as tall as she'd expected, exactly as broad-shouldered, exactly as perfectly groomed. His tuxedo fit him like it had been sewn directly onto his body. His dark skin was flawless, his short curls perfectly styled.

He descended the stairs like he owned not just the mansion but the air around him.

When he finally reached the bottom, he paused for just a moment and scanned the crowd. His sea-green eyes swept across the room, and when they briefly met hers, she felt electricity shoot down her spine.

For one impossible moment, it felt like he was looking directly into her soul.

Then he turned away to shake hands with a man in a navy suit, and the moment was broken.

"Impressive, isn't he?" Maya's voice held a note of pride.

"He's exactly what I expected."

"Is he? Most people are surprised when they meet him. They expect someone more..." Maya paused, searching for the right word. "Civilized."

"What do you mean?" Maya finished her champagne and set the empty glass on a passing waiter's tray.

"My brother is very good at pretending to be like everyone else. But underneath all that expensive tailoring, he's something else entirely."

The words sent a chill down Sylvie's spine. "Something else how?"

"That's an interesting question from someone who's just here to write about charity work."

Before Sylvie could respond, a chime sounded throughout the mansion. The crowd began moving toward an archway that led deeper into the building.

Maya was swept along with the flow of people, leaving Sylvie alone with her racing thoughts. She followed the crowd into the main ballroom and stopped in her tracks.

The ceiling soared forty feet above them, painted with scenes of angels and demons locked in battle. Crystal chandeliers hung like frozen explosions of light, each one the size of a small car.

Her assigned seat was at a table near the back, which gave her a clear view of the room but kept her far from the head table where Myles sat with the most important guests. She was surrounded by other journalists and nonprofit representatives. ‘Harmless people.’

Dinner arrived in a parade of courses that kept coming long after she was full. The conversation at her table was politely boring. But she barely engaged in any of it. She was too busy watching.

Myles sat at the head table like a king holding court. People approached him constantly, bending close to whisper in his ear or shake his hand. He responded to each interaction with perfect politeness, but she noticed that his attention never fully engaged with any single person. He was fully alert, scanning the room.

Several times, she caught him looking in her direction. Not at her table specifically, he was too far away for her to be sure, but somewhere in her section of the room. Each time their eyes met across the distance, she felt that same electric jolt.

After dessert, the charity auction began. Items were displayed on a small stage. The bidding was aggressive, prices climbing into ranges that made her head spin.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the auctioneer announced, "our final item tonight is truly special. A private dinner for two at the penthouse restaurant of Martins Tower, personally hosted by Mr. Myles Martins himself."

The crowd murmured with interest. Hands shot up immediately. The bidding started at ten thousand and climbed fast.

Sylvie watched the numbers rise with growing desperation. This was exactly what she needed, a chance to interview Myles Martins without distractions.

But the price was already at fifty thousand and climbing. She checked her phone. Her bank account showed three thousand dollars, most of which was supposed to pay rent.

But she thought about Jenna, stuck in a dead-end job because she couldn't afford the education she deserved. She thought about the three missing journalists. She thought about the story that could change everything. She raised her hand.

"Sixty thousand from the lady in the back."

The crowd turned to stare. Heat flooded her cheeks, but she kept her hand up. She had no idea how she would pay for this, but it was too late to back down. The bidding continued, but eventually the other participants dropped out.

When the hammer fell, she had somehow won a private dinner with the most mysterious man in New York.

She was still trying to process what she'd just done when the lights went out. Complete darkness swallowed the ballroom.

For a heartbeat, there was absolute silence. Then someone screamed. The silence shattered into chaos. Chairs scraped against marble. People shouted. Glass crashed somewhere above them.

Sylvie looked up and saw a massive crystal chandelier directly overhead, swaying on its mounting. One of the support chains had snapped. As she watched in frozen horror, a second chain gave way with a sound like a gunshot.

The chandelier began to fall. She tried to move, but her legs wouldn't respond.

The enormous fixture plummeted toward her table, thousands of pounds of crystal and metal that would crush everyone beneath it.

Strong arms wrapped around her waist and yanked her sideways. She flew through the air and slammed into something solid and warm just as the chandelier exploded against the floor where she'd been sitting.

The impact drove the breath from her lungs. Crystal shards flew in all directions like deadly snow. The sound was deafening, metal shrieking, glass shattering, people screaming.

When the noise finally stopped, she found herself pressed against a broad chest, arms like steel bands holding her tight. She could feel a heartbeat against her cheek, strong and steady despite the chaos around them.

She looked up into sea-green eyes that seemed to glow in the darkness.

"Are you hurt?" Myles Martins asked, his voice perfectly calm in the middle of the disaster.

She tried to speak, but no words came out.

He had moved impossibly fast. One moment he'd been at the head table fifty feet away, and the next he was here, holding her safe while destruction raged around them.

No human being could move that fast.