Myles' arms were still wrapped around Sylvie when the emergency lights flickered on, bathing the destroyed ballroom in harsh red light. Crystal shards covered everything like deadly confetti. The chandelier had shattered into a thousand pieces where her table used to be, leaving a crater in the marble floor.

"Don't move yet," he said, his breath warm against her ear. "There's glass everywhere."

She could feel his heartbeat against her cheek, steady and strong like nothing had happened. Her own heart was hammering so hard she was surprised it didn't break her ribs. She tried to step back, but his grip tightened.

"I said don't move."

His voice carried an authority that made her freeze without thinking. She looked up at his face and saw his eyes scanning the room, taking in details faster than should be humanly possible. The red emergency lighting cast shadows across his features, making him look dangerous in ways that had nothing to do with the disaster around them.

"How did you get here so fast?" she asked.

"I saw the chandelier starting to fall. I moved."

That wasn't an answer. She'd seen him at the head table when the lights went out, and that table was fifty feet away. Even if he'd started running the instant the lights failed, he shouldn't have been able to reach her before the chandelier hit the ground.

"Nobody moves that fast."

His jaw tightened. "You'd be surprised what people can do in emergencies."

Around them, chaos was slowly organizing into something that looked like disaster management. Men in black suits were moving through the ballroom, directing guests toward exits and checking for injuries. They worked with military precision, like they'd drilled for exactly this scenario.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please remain calm," a voice announced over the sound system. "We're evacuating the building as a precaution. Please follow the instructions of our security team."

Myles finally loosened his grip on her, but he kept one hand on her arm. "Can you walk?"

She tested her legs. They felt shaky, but they held her weight. "I think so."

"Good. We need to get you out of here."

He guided her around the worst of the crystal debris, his hand steady on her elbow. She noticed that he moved through the wreckage without looking down, like he could see every shard in the dim red light. His expensive leather shoes crunched on glass, but he never stumbled or hesitated.

"This way," Myles said, steering her toward a side exit instead of following the main crowd.

"Shouldn't we go with everyone else?"

"The main exits will be crowded. This is faster."

The side exit led to a hallway lined with oil paintings and antique furniture. More men in black suits stood at regular intervals, speaking into earpieces and watching everyone who passed. Their eyes lingered on Sylvie longer than seemed necessary.

"Mr. Martins," one of them said as they approached. "Is everything secure?"

"For now. Any word on what caused the failure?"

"Still investigating, sir. But the mounting system was sabotaged. Someone cut through three of the support chains."

Sylvie felt ice settle in her stomach. "Sabotaged?"

The security man looked at Myles, who nodded slightly.

"Someone wanted that chandelier to fall," the man said. "Question is whether they were targeting the room in general or someone specific."

"Someone specific like who?"

"Like you, Ms. Carter."

She stared at him. "How do you know my name?"

"We know everyone who's in this building tonight. And you're the only journalist who's been asking detailed questions about Mr. Martins' business operations."

The hallway suddenly felt smaller. "Are you suggesting someone tried to kill me with a chandelier?"

"I'm not suggesting anything," the security man said. "I'm stating facts. The chandelier was sabotaged. It fell directly over your table. You won the auction item that would give you private access to Mr. Martins. That's a lot of coincidences."

Myles' hand tightened on her arm. "We'll discuss this later. Right now we need to get her somewhere safe."

They continued down the hallway, past rooms with locked doors that held the ‘keep off’ sign above. Sylvie's mind was racing, trying to process what she'd just heard. Someone had deliberately tried to drop a chandelier on her head. Someone who knew she was investigating Myles Martins and didn't want her to continue.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"My office. It's secure."

They climbed a staircase that led to the second floor. Myles' office was at the end of the hall, behind double doors. He opened them with a key from his pocket and ushered her inside.

The room was exactly what she'd expected from a billionaire's private office. Floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a view of the grounds.

But what caught her attention were the security monitors mounted on one wall, showing feeds from cameras throughout the mansion. She could see the destroyed ballroom, the evacuation routes, and several rooms she hadn't known existed.

"Sit down," Myles said, gesturing to one of the leather chairs.

She sat, but her legs were still shaking. The adrenaline was starting to wear off, leaving her feeling hollow and scared. "Someone really tried to kill me?"

"It's possible." He walked to a cabinet and pulled out a crystal decanter filled with amber liquid. "Drink this."

He handed her a glass of expensive whiskey. She took a sip and felt warmth spread through her chest.

"Why would someone want me dead? I'm nobody. I write for a mid-level newspaper and live in a studio apartment in Brooklyn."

"You're nobody who's been asking questions about my business operations. Apparently, someone thinks those questions are dangerous."

She looked up at him. He was standing by the window, silhouetted against the emergency lights outside. Even in the aftermath of attempted murder, he looked perfectly composed. His tuxedo wasn't even wrinkled.

"How are you so calm about this?"

"I've dealt with worse."

"Worse than someone trying to murder a journalist at your charity gala?"

He turned away from the window and looked at her directly. "Ms. Carter, there are things about my business that some people prefer to keep private. It could make them willing to go to extreme lengths to maintain their secrecy."

"What kind of things?"

He stared into her eyes. "It could get you killed if you're not careful."

The whiskey turned to acid in her stomach. "Are you threatening me?"

"I'm warning you. That's different."

Before she could respond, the office door opened and Maya walked in. She'd changed out of her evening gown into dark jeans and a black sweater.

"The building is secure," she told Myles. "Police are calling it an accident, but our people found evidence of sabotage. Someone used industrial wire cutters on the support chains."

"Any idea who?"

"Not yet. But whoever did it knew exactly which chandelier would cause the most damage and exactly when to cut the chains for maximum impact."

Maya looked at Sylvie. "You're lucky my brother has good reflexes."

"Good reflexes?" Sylvie set down her whiskey glass and stood up. "He moved fifty feet in less than two seconds. That's not good reflexes. That's impossible."

Brother and sister exchanged a look.

"She's observant," Maya said.

"She's a journalist. It's her job to notice details."

"Myles, she saw you move."

"What does that mean?" Sylvie looked back and forth between brother and sister. "What aren't you telling me?"

Myles walked to his desk and sat down behind it, putting distance between them. "Ms. Carter, you came here tonight to investigate my business operations. What exactly were you hoping to find?"

"Evidence of financial irregularities. Proof that Martins Corporation isn't what it appears to be."

"And what do you think it appears to be?"

"A legitimate business empire built by a man who's very good at staying out of the public eye."

Maya laughed, but the sound wasn't amused. "She really doesn't know, does she?"

"Know what?" Sylvie's voice was getting louder. "Will someone please tell me what's going on?"

Myles leaned back in his chair and studied her with those intense sea-green eyes. "What do you know about your own family history, Ms. Carter?"

The question caught her completely off guard. "What does my family have to do with anything?"

"Answer the question."

"My parents died in a car accident when I was sixteen. I've been taking care of my sister ever since. That's it. That's my whole family history."

"What about before your parents? Grandparents, great-grandparents, family stories?"

"I don't see how that's relevant."

"It's more relevant than you know." He opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a manila folder. "Tell me, Ms. Carter, have you ever noticed anything unusual about yourself? Enhanced senses, maybe? Unusual strength? The ability to see things other people miss?"

Her mouth went dry. Marcus had said almost the same thing when he'd given her this assignment. Something about her being different, about seeing things other people didn't.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I think you do." He opened the folder and pulled out a photograph, sliding it across the desk toward her. "I think you know exactly what I'm talking about."

She looked down at the photograph and felt the world tilt sideways.

It was a picture of a wolf. Not a regular wolf, but larger and more powerful. Its fur was an unusual shade of pink that seemed to shimmer in the camera flash.

And its eyes were exactly the same hazel color as her own.