Thirty-two weeks pregnant, I watched my husband walk into his family’s Christmas party with another woman wearing the diamond necklace he had secretly purchased during a hotel stay. Sixty guests were watching when I finally told him, “Since you brought someone, I brought someone too”—but Matthias had no idea that his infidelity was no longer the most dangerous secret I had uncovered.

Screams echoed through the dark dining hall as dozens of terrified guests threw themselves onto the floor amidst the fallen plaster and shattered glass.

The heavy smell of sulfur and natural gas instantly filled the air, drifting out from the ruined west wing corridor.

“Hold your positions!” Marcus Vance barked, drawing his service weapon and activating his tactical shoulder flashlight. The bright beam cut through the thick dust cloud filling the foyer. “Troopers! Secure the exits! Don't let anyone through the main doors until we confirm the structural integrity!”

Through the haze, I saw Fiona Vale leap over a fallen marble statuette and sprint into the darkness of the service corridor leading to the basement and private security office.

She wasn't trying to escape into the snow outside—she was heading for the master server room to wipe the digital audit trail containing the offshore bank account transfers before federal agents could download them.

Matthias was still sitting on the floor near the fireplace, blood trickling from a small scratch on his forehead where a piece of flying glass had grazed him. He was trembling violently, staring at the destruction of his family’s home in absolute shock.

“Matthias!” I shouted, pushing myself up from the chair despite the dull ache in my back. “Get up!”

He looked up at me through the smoke, his eyes hollow and broken. “Serena... everything is gone. My father’s company... my life...”

“Get up and help people, you spineless bastard!” I snapped, grabbing a clean linen tablecloth from a catering station and tossing it onto his lap. “Press that against your father’s head! He’s bleeding!”

Arthur Dre lay on the rug, his breathing shallow, a dark stain spreading across the shoulder of his tuxedo jacket where ceiling debris had struck him. Victoria was sobbing hysterically beside him.

Marcus Vance approached me, his gun held at high ready. “Serena, you need to evacuate through the East Terrace with the paramedics! The gas leak in the west wing is active—if a stray spark hits that air duct, the whole central block goes up!”

“The server room is directly beneath the central block, Marcus,” I said, pointing toward the heavy metal basement door at the end of the service hallway. “Fiona went down there. If she wipes the server, the evidence connecting her backers to the attack disappears—and Matthias takes the fall for the entire conspiracy!”

Marcus looked at me, admiration and concern clashing in his dark eyes. “You’re thirty-two weeks pregnant, Serena! You shouldn't be chasing armed criminals down into a gas-filled basement!”

“I’m a trauma nurse, Marcus,” I said, picking up a heavy tactical flashlight from a fallen trooper’s belt. “I know this layout better than anyone—I helped design the emergency medical layout for my in-laws two years ago. And I am not letting that woman destroy my daughter’s future!”