✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
[ 𝐒𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐋 1 ]
Because this is where love fades and hate resides and intensifies, broken hearts produce the most tragic stories.
Their treachery is told through their bleeding hearts: their unrequited love was never reciprocated. The...
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The applause was deafening, a roaring wave of approval that washed over the final model gliding down the runway. Emma and I exchanged a sharp, satisfying glance. The collaboration—Fashion Forbes meets Reva Designs—was an unqualified, undeniable success. The fusion line was groundbreaking, and the energy in the room was electric. Everything was proceeding according to the meticulous plan I had laid out. The Forbes deal was all but sealed.
I felt a rare, fleeting moment of satisfaction, a sense of having executed a complex maneuver flawlessly. Even the presence of Ada, standing beside me, lending an effortless, elegant grace to the farce, felt like a win. She was an asset, a beautiful, volatile variable that I had managed to control and deploy perfectly.
Then, the script ripped apart.
It started as a slight pop, almost indistinguishable from a bursting champagne cork. Then came a series of rapid, echoing cracks—not celebratory, but sharp, lethal, and immediate. Gunshots.
The organized roar of applause curdled into a collective shriek of terror. The pristine, glowing venue instantly devolved into primal, frantic chaos. People—influencers, investors, society elite—were surging, diving, and trampling each other in a desperate bid for the exits.
My mind didn't register fear; it registered a Breach of Protocol. A dangerous, unacceptable variable.
My eyes snapped to my immediate responsibilities. Samaira, Ada's sister, was standing directly in front of me, her face frozen in pure shock, exactly where the wave of fleeing bodies was about to hit.
I didn't think. I acted. My left arm shot out, grabbing Samaira's shoulder, yanking her hard against my side, shielding her body with mine, and simultaneously shoving her toward the reinforced back corridor where our guards were positioned.
"Get her out!" I barked at one of the senior security personnel. "Now!"
The sound of shattering glass from the mezzanine floor confirmed the severity of the threat. This wasn't a warning; it was a targeted attack.
Across the room, John and Ethan were already issuing sharp, concise orders into their comms. The well-oiled machine of the Forbes security detail moved instantly, forming a protective perimeter around the central power players. Emma, her face pale but focused, moved with chilling efficiency. Her hand, moving beneath the elaborate folds of her gown, came out gripping a sleek, black handgun. Joey was right behind her, equally armed.
