Chapter 2 - The Name They Forgot to Ask
Tristan stared at me, his perfectly sculpted face twitching as the reality of the steel barriers set in.
"Are you insane?" he hissed, though his voice lacked its previous venom. "Do you know who my father is? I am a Montgomery! My private security detail is right outside those walls! One phone call, and they will breach this building!"
He pulled out his phone, his fingers frantically tapping the screen.
A moment passed. Then two.
"No signal," he muttered, panic bleeding into his tone. "Why the hell is there no signal?!"
"Military-grade signal jammers," I replied smoothly, adjusting my torn sleeve. "They activate automatically when the lockdown protocol is engaged. No calls go out. No calls come in. Except for mine."
Tristan’s face flushed with a mixture of terror and rage. He lunged toward me, his hand raised to strike me again. "Open these doors, you crazy bitch, or I swear to God—"
Before his hand could even come close to my face, a red laser dot appeared dead center on his chest.
Then another. And another.
From the shadows of the mezzanine, a dozen elite tactical guards stepped into the light. They were not wearing the standard black suits of gala security. They wore heavy tactical gear, their rifles aimed squarely at Tristan’s heart.
Tristan froze, his hand suspended in mid-air.
He let out a breathless, arrogant laugh, trying to salvage his pride. "Finally! Security! Arrest this lunatic! She’s holding the entire gala hostage!"
The guards did not move. They did not lower their weapons. They did not even look at me.
The captain of the guard stepped forward, bypassing Tristan entirely. He stopped two feet in front of me and bowed deeply.
"Are you severely injured, Miss Vance?"
The name dropped into the silent ballroom like a live grenade.
May you like
Vance.
Tristan’s breath hitched. The color completely drained from his face. "V-Vance?"
