The glass slipped from Jack’s hand, shattering on the marble floor.
Sarah flinched. “Jack—what did the text say?”
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he pocketed the phone, his body tensing like a loaded spring. The air had shifted—thicker now, charged, suffocating.
Then the boom.
Glass shattered across the grand hall as a concussive blast blew out the front doors. Screams pierced the music. Guests scattered like startled birds.
“Everyone down!” a guard shouted, too late.
From the smoke and chaos strode Victor Krane—six-foot-four, obsidian coat, white-blonde hair falling to his collarbones like a war banner. His eyes burned with cold calculation.
And in his grip, bloodied and coughing—
“William!” Sarah gasped.
Jack’s eyes locked on the scene. Victor had William—chairman and estate owner—b
