The party was ruined, the entire Caldwell estate was in chaos. Security swarmed the ballroom, assessing the wreckage, while guests whispered in frantic, hushed tones. The chandelier—once a grand, sparkling centerpiece—was now a pile of shattered glass and twisted metal, a grim reminder of how close I had come to dying.
But I wasn’t the one lying on the ground in pain.
Tristan was.
Paramedics worked quickly, stabilizing his arm and preparing him for transport. He clenched his jaw, barely making a sound despite the obvious agony. I should have felt relieved that I had avoided being crushed, but all I could think about was him lying there, his sharp blue eyes clouded with pain.
“Get him to the hospital now,” Cole ordered, his voice low but commanding. “And make sure no one outside
