Chapter 3 - The CEO Who Could Not Forget
Chandler did not sleep that night.
By 4:30 a.m., the gala had become an international news story.
Every channel replayed the footage.
Diala running across the ballroom.
Diala grabbing his face.
Diala kissing him in front of a stunned crowd.
Then the sudden eruption of panic after security discovered the rifle.
Commentators debated whether it was a publicity stunt, a romantic scandal, or an act of courage.
They knew nothing.
They did not know that Diala had seen the reflection in a chandelier.
They did not know she had made a decision in seconds that his entire security division failed to make in time.
And they did not know she had run away afterward looking terrified—not proud.
Chandler stood in his office before sunrise, watching the footage without sound.
For the seventh time.
On screen, Diala’s eyes lifted toward the chandelier.
Her posture changed.
Then she ran.
“Pause it there,” Chandler said.
Marcus Hall paused the video.
Diala’s face filled the screen.
“She saw something,” Chandler said.
“Yes.”
“But she did not look toward the balcony.”
“No.”
“She looked at the chandelier.”
Marcus enlarged the image.
In the curved crystal, barely visible among reflections of lights and guests, was the silhouette of a man holding a weapon.
Chandler stared at it.
“She saw the shooter in the reflection.”
Marcus nodded.
“She did.”
“Then why did she run to me instead of security?”
“She may not have had time.”
Chandler’s expression hardened.
“She had time to kiss me.”
Marcus almost smiled, then thought better of it.
“She used the cameras, sir. Every media lens was focused on you. She turned you away from the balcony and placed herself between you and the shooter.”
Chandler looked again at the frozen frame.
Diala’s hands on his face.
Her body pressed against his.
Not seduction.
Not ambition.
Not scandal.
Protection.
“She put herself in the line of fire,” he said.
“Yes, sir.”
Chandler’s voice became quiet.
“And I barely knew her name.”
Marcus looked down.
“Her personnel file says she has worked in event services here for three years. She requested additional shifts regularly. No disciplinary history. No absenteeism. No complaints.”
“Family?”
“One younger brother, eighteen. He has a chronic kidney condition.”
Chandler turned.
“What?”
“She pays for part of his treatment. Their mother died six years ago. Their father is not listed in any current records.”
The information landed heavily.
Diala had spent three years inside his company, working extra shifts to keep her brother alive.
And Chandler McFarland had walked past her dozens of times without seeing her.
He remembered flashes now.
A woman holding an umbrella outside the building during a storm.
A soft voice saying, “Excuse me, Mr. McFarland,” as she moved a cart out of his way.
A pair of dark eyes lowered quickly whenever he crossed a room.
He had never asked her name.
“Find her,” Chandler said.
“We are trying.”
“No,” Chandler replied. “Not as an employee who left her shift. Not as a suspect. Find her as the woman who saved my life.”
Marcus nodded.
Then his phone rang.
He listened for less than ten seconds.
His expression changed.
“What is it?” Chandler asked.
“Her apartment building had a break-in two hours ago.”
Chandler went still.
“Was she there?”
“No. But her door was forced open.”
“Who did it?”
“We do not know yet.”
Chandler reached for his coat.
Marcus stepped in front of him.
“Sir, the police are handling it.”
“The woman who saved me has someone breaking into her apartment hours after the attempt on my life.”
“Yes.”
“And you think I am staying here?”
Marcus held his gaze.
May you like
“No, sir.”
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