Chapter 2 - The Glass He Never Drank
Damian moved in front of me before I understood what was happening.
“Stay behind me.”
His voice wasn’t loud.
It didn’t need to be.
Two men from his security team appeared instantly.
The fake waiter backed away.
“Easy,” he said.
Damian stared at him.
“Who sent you?”
“I’m working.”
“No,” I said.
Everyone looked at me.
I pointed at the man’s wrist.
“That tattoo. I treated him at Crosswell six months ago.”
The waiter’s expression changed.
Damian noticed.
“What name?” he asked me.
“Anthony Voss.”
The man’s jaw tightened.
That was enough.
Damian’s security chief, Luca Bennett, stepped between Voss and the ballroom.
“Kitchen corridor,” Luca ordered.
Voss glanced toward the exit.
Damian spoke quietly.
“Don’t.”
Voss stopped.
Around us, music continued playing because most of the guests hadn’t yet realized anything was wrong.
Luca escorted him away without a public scene.
I looked down at the broken champagne glasses.
“Was it poisoned?”
Damian’s gaze followed mine.
“We don’t know.”
“You were about to drink one.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You reached for it.”
“I changed my mind.”
“After I grabbed you.”
His mouth almost curved.
“You’re argumentative for an employee.”
“I’m a nurse. It’s practically a licensing requirement.”
His eyes remained on mine for a second too long.
Then Luca returned.
“We need to leave.”
“What did you find?” Damian asked.
“Enough.”
Damian’s expression hardened.
“Mercer?”
“We don’t know yet.”
I stepped forward. “What was in the glasses?”
Luca hesitated.
Damian answered.
“Something that wasn’t champagne.”
My stomach tightened.
“Then call the police.”
Both men looked at me.
I sighed.
“Right. Stupid question.”
“Not stupid,” Damian said. “Just optimistic.”
We left through a private corridor.
Inside the elevator, Damian stood beside me while Luca spoke quietly into an earpiece.
I stared at the illuminated floor numbers.
47.
48.
49.
Then Damian said, “How did you remember the tattoo?”
“I remember patients.”
“You treated hundreds.”
“I remember details.”
“What else do you remember about Voss?”
I thought.
“Gunshot wound to the upper arm. He said it was an accident.”
“Anything else?”
“He kept asking whether another man had arrived.”
“Name?”
“He never gave one.”
“Description?”
“About fifty. Gray hair. Scar across his right palm.”
Damian and Luca exchanged a look.
“What?” I asked.
Damian said, “Silas Mercer.”
My pulse jumped.
“The Mercer you mentioned upstairs?”
“Yes.”
The elevator stopped.
Nobody moved.
Luca looked at the panel.
“We didn’t stop it.”
The lights flickered.
Damian immediately pulled me behind him.
“Luca.”
“Working on it.”
The elevator remained motionless for three seconds.
Then five.
Then the lights returned.
We began descending again.
Luca exhaled. “Building security says a service interruption.”
Damian looked at him.
“You believe that?”
“No.”
When the doors opened in the underground garage, four black SUVs were waiting.
Damian opened the rear door for me.
“I can go home.”
“No.”
“Mr. Cross—”
“Someone at that party knows you recognized Voss.”
“So?”
“So until I know what happened, you’re staying somewhere protected.”
“I have an apartment.”
“Not anymore tonight.”
I stared at him.
“You don’t get to decide where I sleep.”
Damian leaned closer.
“No, Elena. I don’t.”
It was the first time he had ever used my first name.
“But somebody just tried to use my own event against me. You exposed him in front of five hundred people. If Mercer knows who you are, your apartment is the first place I’d expect him to look.”
I hated that his logic made sense.
“Where are we going?”
“My house.”
“Absolutely not.”
His eyebrow lifted.
“You prefer the penthouse?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.”
I climbed into the SUV.
Damian followed.
As the door closed, his phone rang.
He answered.
His expression changed almost immediately.
“What?”
Silence.
Then:
“When?”
Another pause.
Damian slowly looked at me.
“Lock down Crosswell.”
My stomach dropped.
“What happened?”
He ended the call.
“Someone broke into the clinic.”
I sat forward.
“What did they take?”
May you like
Damian’s voice became dangerously quiet.
“Your personnel file.”
