The night air felt thick with something unspoken like fate was holding its breath.
Emma stood at the balcony, wrapped in a satin robe, her hands clutching a steaming mug of chamomile tea she hadn't taken a single sip from. Below her, the city lights blinked like stars scattered across the earth. But none of it reached her heart. Her thoughts were spinning, faster than she could control, trying to unravel everything that had happened at the gala.
Someone had tried to kill her.
And that someone hadn't acted alone.
The sniper's bullet hadn't just missed it had sent a chilling message: You're being watched. You're a target. And despite all the security, the Allan name, and the guarded compound, they had gotten close. Too close.
She clutched the mug tighter, her knuckles white against the porcelain. Behind her, the door creaked open softly.
