The music throbbed like a living beast inside the glittering cottage-turned-ballroom, every bass note rattling champagne flutes and vibrating through Eve's chest. She hated parties. Hated the crowd, the fake laughter, the way strangers leaned too close as if secrets were meant to be traded for drinks. Tonight, however, she couldn't refuse Stuart.
Not when he smiled at her like that.
From across the sparkling dance floor, Stuart caught her staring. His lips curved into a mischievous grin, boyish despite the tux hugging his tall frame. He tipped his glass toward her in a silent toast before someone snagged his attention, pulling him back into the swirl of conversations. Always someone. Always wanting a piece of him.
Eve sighed, tracing the rim of her untouched wine glass. He promised me five minutes. Just five.
"Sulking already?"
The teasing voice belonged to Emma, who slipped onto the seat beside her. His navy suit looked effortless, the man wearing it with the kind of ease that came from confidence, not money. His hand brushed her arm, a lingering, familiar touch.
"I'm not sulking," Eve muttered. "Just… waiting."
"Stuart lives in his own time zone." Emma's smirk carried a strange edge tonight. "He'll keep you waiting forever if you let him."
Something about the way he said it made her skin prickle, but before she could ask, Stuart's laugh rang through the air. That laugh—bright, magnetic, careless. Guests turned toward it as if drawn by invisible strings.
Everyone, except her.
Because Eve saw what others didn't.
The faint tremor when Stuart raised his glass. The nervous flick of his gaze toward the porch doors. The shadow of urgency in his eyes whenever they found hers.
He was hiding something.
....
Later, when speeches ended and the crowd dissolved toward the buffet, Stuart appeared at her side at last. He smelled of cedarwood and champagne, his dark hair mussed just enough to make him look younger, softer.
"There you are," he whispered, tugging her hand. "Come with me."
"Stuart, what—"
"No questions." His grin softened into something more vulnerable. "Trust me?"
Always.
She let him lead her down a narrow hall, away from clinking glasses and laughter. They slipped into her study, a dimly lit room lined with bookshelves and the glow of a lone laptop.
Stuart shut the door. The smile faded.
"Eve…" His voice cracked. "If anything happens to me—"
"Don't." Her chest tightened. "Don't say that."
"I need you to listen." He cupped her face, his hands trembling against her skin. "There's something I've been working on. It's big. Bigger than I imagined. And now… now it belongs to us."
Her pulse quickened. "What are you talking about?"
He hesitated, glanced at her desk, then back. "I'll explain everything. Just—after tonight. I want this night to be ours first. I slipped something in your phone case. Don't touch it till I say."
Her lips parted, but before she could demand answers, a knock rattled the door.
"Stuart?" It was Sylv, his partner. "They need you outside."
Stuart swore under his breath, kissed her forehead, and whispered, "Five minutes. Don't move."
Then he was gone.
.....
Minutes stretched into eternity.
Eve paced, nerves fraying. She reached for the laptop, stopped. She trusted him. She could wait.
But the music outside faltered. Voices rose in alarm. Then—
A scream.
Her blood iced. She wrenched the door open and sprinted toward the sound, her heels clattering against marble. Guests crowded near the driveway, their laughter replaced by horrified gasps.
And there—
At the bottom of the stone steps stood a tiny white Pomeranian, its pristine fur drenched in red, a gold-engraved car remote dangling from its jaws.
"Madeline!"
Mademoiselle Adeline shrieked, pushing through the crowd toward her pet.
Whispers rippled. Panic followed.
Sylv's face was ashen. "Where's Stuart?"
Emma loosened his collar, scanning the chaos. "Nowhere inside. He's not here."
Eve's world tilted. Her heart hammered as she noticed the crimson pawprints trailing away from the steps, stamped into the sidewalk.
She kicked off her heels. Run.
Ignoring the men shouting after her, she followed the bloody tracks down the empty street. Her breath tore through her lungs, adrenaline pushing her harder, faster.
The trail ended at the old park on the corner.
And there, beneath the pale streetlight—
Stuart lay crumpled at the base of the stone steps, body twisted at an impossible angle. A rake pierced through his head, blood spreading across the concrete like a grotesque halo.
"No," Eve whispered, stumbling to his side. She fell to her knees in the blood, clutching his icy hand. "He's drunk—he has to be drunk."
But his chest didn't rise. His lips didn't move.
Dead.
The others caught up, their footsteps skidding to a halt. Silence. Horror.
Ken bent double, vomiting onto the grass. Sylv's face drained of color.
Emma yanked Eve back, hands gripping her shoulders. "Don't look. Don't!" His voice cracked, unsteady for the first time.
Sylv dragged her farther while Emma pulled off his jacket, draping it over Stuart's broken body.
Ken fumbled with his phone, fingers shaking as he called an ambulance that would come too late.
Eve's sobs tore free, her throat raw. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Stuart's words echoed.
If anything happens to me… there's something in your phone case.