Chapter 1 - The Midnight Shatter
At 12:04 a.m., Daniel Whitmore awoke to the deafening sound of a mirror breaking.
For a few brief seconds, he remained completely still, staring up at the intricate plaster molding of his Beverly Hills bedroom ceiling. The family mansion, a sprawling Italianate estate appraised at over $40 million, boasted thirty-eight rooms, two marble staircases, and walls so incredibly thick that barely any noise could penetrate them. Constructed by his father as a physical monument to the unstoppable Whitmore Holdings empire, it was designed to be an impenetrable fortress of absolute privacy and unshakeable peace.
Then, a sharp, piercing shriek cut through the silence.
It definitely wasn't Vanessa, his fiancée.
Daniel threw off the Egyptian cotton sheets, slipped his feet into leather loafers, and pulled his bedroom door open into the dimly lit hallway. At the far end of the east corridor, beneath the flickering glow of a massive crystal chandelier, he spotted the glittering, jagged shards of his grandmother's antique Florentine mirror spread like diamonds across the dark hardwood floor.
Resting directly among the lethal shards of glass was an unconscious woman.
Maria Collins, the estate housekeeper, lay crumpled in her blue uniform, which was heavily soaked in dark, spreading blood. A deep, ugly gash tore across her forehead, and both of her forearms were littered with raw, bleeding cuts from the broken glass.
Standing over her, still wearing the gorgeous, sequined black Versace dress she had worn to the annual Los Angeles Philanthropic Gala that night, was Vanessa Hart. She gripped Maria tightly by the wrists, hauling her limp, deadweight body backward toward the service stairs.
“What on earth are you doing?” Daniel demanded, his voice echoing sharply down the corridor.
Vanessa jerked upward. For a fleeting, terrifying second, her eyes contained a chilling, predatory coldness he had never witnessed in the two years they had been together. Then, as fast as a shutter snapping, the warm, charming smile that had captivated him on their very first date reappeared on her face.
“Don't worry, sweetheart. I've already handled everything,” she said smoothly, her voice eerily calm.
“Handled what, exactly? Why is she bleeding on the floor?”
“Maria was heavily intoxicated,” Vanessa explained, stepping gracefully over a large shard of glass. “She stumbled up the service stairs, tried to attack me for reprimanding her, lost her footing, and crashed right into the mirror. I was just moving her to a spare room so we could prevent a media scandal.”
Daniel stared at her, a knot of deep unease tightening in his stomach. He honestly didn't know much about Maria personally, despite the fact she had worked at the property with quiet diligence for nearly three years. But he knew one concrete, undeniable detail: Maria absolutely never drank alcohol. At staff holiday parties, she always turned down even a single sip of wine, citing strict personal convictions.
More importantly, nobody in their right mind drags an unconscious woman to safety directly across a bed of broken glass, scraping her skin further in the process.
Daniel dropped to his knees next to the housekeeper. Maria was struggling to breathe, her chest rising and falling in shallow, desperate gasps. When he placed a trembling hand on her cold shoulder, she fluttered her heavy eyelids open and stared directly at him with an expression of sheer, unadulterated terror.
“She knows about Noah,” Maria breathed out, her voice barely a rasp.
Vanessa’s warm, radiant smile completely vanished, replaced instantly by a mask of hard, frozen glass.
“She’s completely delirious from the concussion,” Vanessa stated loudly, stepping closer. “Daniel, stop listening to her nonsense and let me drag her to the medical wing.”
Maria attempted to whisper something else, her lips trembling, before her eyes rolled back and she faded into unconsciousness once more.
“Call an ambulance right now,” Daniel commanded, his tone dropping into the authoritative register he usually reserved boardrooms.
“We can just call our private concierge doctor, darling,” Vanessa urged, her voice turning unusually frantic. “If an ambulance arrives here at midnight, the paparazzi will have a field day. Think of Whitmore Holdings' public image!”
May you like
“Call one. Right now!”
For the very first time since he had crossed paths with her, Vanessa actually looked terrified.
