Chapter 2

The night of the party, the Patel villa blazed with light.

A thousand crystal lanterns hung from the glass ceiling of the conservatory. The air was thick with the heady perfume of expensive tuberose.

Guests arrived in waves, the city's most influential names. They stepped inside and their eyes went wide.

Whispers rippled through every corner—no one could understand why I would lavish such extravagance on my fiancé's widowed childhood friend.

They wondered if I'd lost my mind.

I stood in the corner with my own champagne flute, my smile fixed so perfectly.

Brian came over, and I touched his arm lightly, leaning in to speak close to his ear. "Let Daisy take the first dance. Tonight is her night."

He looked at me, and I saw surprise in his gaze, followed by approval.

The first notes of the waltz swelled through the conservatory, and Brian led Daisy to the center of the floor.

She wore a champagne‑colored satin gown that rippled like liquid gold under the lights. She gazed up at him, her eyes glistening.

I stood behind the crowd, watching them quietly.

When the gift presentation came, Brian stepped forward with a velvet case in his hands. He opened it with a practiced flick of his thumb, and a collective gasp rippled through the crowd.

Inside lay an emerald necklace—a cascade of Colombian stones, each the size of a thumbnail, linked by delicate platinum chains.

I recognized it instantly. It had been featured in Sotheby's catalogue last spring, estimated at well over ten million. I'd seen Brian's name on the buyer's list and assumed, foolishly, that it was meant for me—for our wedding day.

He lifted it from the case and held it up, the emeralds swaying gently.

"Daisy," he said, his voice carrying across the silent room, "I wanted you to have something that reminds you of how precious you are to all of us. Happy birthday."

Daisy's eyes went wide. Then a smile broke across her face. She reached out and touched the largest stone with her fingertip, tracing its polished surface.

"It's beautiful," she breathed. "Brian, it's absolutely gorgeous."

But then her smile faltered, and she shook her head. "I can't. I can't accept this—it's too much."

She turned, her gaze scanning the crowd until it found me, and then she was moving—quick, purposeful steps across the marble floo.

She reached me before I could step away.

"Elena," she said, pressing the necklace into my hands, her fingers wrapping around mine with surprising strength. "This should be yours. You're Brian's fiancée—he should be giving this to you, not to me. Please, take it."

I frowned, trying to pull my hands back. "No. It's yours. He gave it to you."

But she wouldn't let go. Her grip tightened, and she thrust the necklace toward my chest, her face a mask of desperate sincerity. "I insist. I can't keep something this valuable—it wouldn't be right. You deserve it far more than I do."

I tried to tug my hands free, but somehow, her body pitched forward like a marionette with cut strings, her weight suddenly crashing into mine.

Her shoulder caught me square in the chest, and the force of it sent me reeling backward.

My heel caught the base of the champagne tower behind me.

Crystal glasses exploded in a cascade of sound. Champagne splashed across my dress and arms, and splinters of glass glittered on the marble floor.

Daisy had landed gracefully in Brian's arms. He'd caught her mid‑fall, his hands firm on her waist, and now she was pressed against his chest, her face buried in his shoulder, her body trembling. His arms were locked around her, protective and fierce.

"Are you all right?" Brian's voice was sharp with urgency, his eyes racing over her body, checking for any sign of injury.

Daisy shook her head, her voice muffled. "I think I'm okay. I'm just so shaken. She grabbed me so hard, Brian. I didn't expect it."

Brian's head snapped up and his expression hardened. "Elena. How can you do that! I'm so disappointed in you!"

My vision swam. I pressed my hand against the edge of a nearby table, trying to steady myself. "Brian…" I managed, my voice barely a thread of sound. "Please… I didn't…"

Before I could finish, Daisy let out a soft moan and pressed her fingers to her temples. "Oh, Brian… I feel so dizzy. Everything is spinning."

Brian turned on his heel instantly. He was at her side in three swift strides and swept her up into his arms.

Without a backward glance, Brian turned toward the door.

Daisy lifted her head just enough to look back over his shoulder. Her eyes found mine. And she smiled.

It was small, barely a twitch of her lips, hidden from Brian's view. But I saw it clearly.

And then they were gone, the doors swinging shut behind them.

I stood alone in the doorway of the conservatory, a sharp, burning sting spread across my calf and the back of my hand.

I looked down—shards of glass had buried themselves in my skin, and blood was already trickling along my ankle, dotting the white marble with tiny red blooms.

The gash on my hand was deeper; the flesh gaped open, and blood seeped through my fingers.

The guests around me finally snapped out of their shock and swarmed toward me.

"Oh my, you're bleeding! Someone call a doctor."

"Quick, help her sit down—those shards are in deep."

I didn't remember how I got to the private hospital.

The nurses cleaned my wounds while I stared at the ceiling fixture overhead, not making a sound. Seven stitches in my calf, four on my hand.

During the removal of the glass fragments, I gripped the bedsheet so hard my nails cut into my palms.

Outside my curtain, I overheard two nurses whispering.

"All the doctors were pulled to another floor—apparently Miss Burton had a shock and they're running a full work‑up…"

"What about this side? Isn't Miss Rossi his fiancée?"

"I don't know… no one seems to have notified him."

I closed my eyes.

The IV fluid trickled into my veins, cold and thin.

Once upon a time, a paper cut on my finger would have sent Brian rushing for three different family doctors.

He'd hold my hand and scold me gently. "How could you be so careless?"

Then he'd bandage it himself and carry me to the sofa, forbidding me from walking anywhere. He'd sit beside me and stroke my hair until I felt better.

Now? Every doctor, every ounce of attention, every scrap of concern—all of it belonged to Daisy.

A wave of sadness hit me.

My consciousness began to slip, heavy and dark, pulling me under.