Red crossed her arms, shifting her weight as she watched Cindy and Wolfe glide effortlessly across the dance floor.

  Cindy was beaming, her laugh bright and unguarded as Wolfe dipped her slightly before pulling her back into his arms.

  She was flirting with ease, a skill Cindy had perfected over years of high society events.

  And Wolfe?

  He was playing his part flawlessly.

  Every compliment, every teasing remark landed perfectly.

  Every time Cindy laughed, he smiled just enough to encourage her.

  Every time she tilted her head just slightly, he leaned in as if hanging on her every word.

  It was textbook seduction.

  And Cindy was falling for it.

  Red told herself this was normal. Cindy had danced with dozens of men like this before, had entertained flirty strangers at every ball she had ever thrown.

  This wasn’t new.

  So why did it feel different?

  Why did Red’s stomach feel tight, her fingers clenching unconsciously at her sides?

  Why did it suddenly feel like Cindy was just a little too distracted?

  Like Wolfe was just a little too in control?

  Like the energy between them was shifting—not just playful, not just flirty… but something else.

  Red’s eyes narrowed slightly.

  Wolfe’s movements were too precise.

  Not just in the way he danced, but in the way he adjusted Cindy’s position, the way he subtly directed her steps.

  It wasn’t just a dance anymore.

  It was a performance.

  And Red couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t the audience—she was the target.

  Then—it happened.

  Just for a second.

  Wolfe turned Cindy in a slow spin, and his gaze flickered back to Red.

  Just like before.

  But this time, his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  For the briefest moment, Red saw something else—something colder.

  And suddenly, she knew.

  Something was wrong.

  She didn’t know what.

  She didn’t know how.

  But she knew.

  And by the time the realization hit, it was already

  The song ended, and Wolfe guided Cindy into the final movement with perfect precision.

  He dipped her low, his golden-brown eyes locked onto hers, and when he pulled her back up, he didn’t let go immediately.

  His fingers lingered just a little too long, his touch deliberate.

  Cindy was breathless, completely captivated.

  And when he lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a slow kiss against her knuckles, she giggled softly, biting her lip.

  He started to step away, as if to leave her with the memory of their dance—but Cindy wasn’t ready to let him go.

  With a boldness that had always been second nature to her, she grabbed his lapel and pulled him back.

  And then, she kissed him.

  Red stiffened.

  The ballroom around them seemed to blur.

  All she could see was Cindy pressed against Wolfe, lost in the moment.

  And Wolfe—he barely hesitated before kissing her back.

  A murmur rippled through the crowd, some amused, some intrigued, some envious.

  The mystery man had stolen the night.

  Cindy finally pulled back, eyes gleaming with excitement.

  “Come with me,” she whispered.

  And just like that, she took his hand and led him toward the grand staircase.

  Red’s pulse kicked up.

  Something about this felt wrong. So, so wrong.

  She stepped forward, intending to intercept them—but the crowd was moving, shifting, closing in around her.

  She lost sight of Cindy and Wolfe as they ascended the steps, disappearing through the balcony doors.

  Red tried to push forward, but the dance floor had turned into a swirling sea of gowns and tuxedos, a maze of distractions.

  She cursed under her breath, maneuvering her way through. Too slow.

  By the time she finally reached the top of the staircase and pushed open the doors—

  She saw it.

  Cindy was against the far wall, her hands clutching at Wolfe’s wrist.

  The same wrist that was now holding a gleaming knife against her throat.

  Blood—not much, but enough—streaked across her pale blue gown, a wicked contrast to its elegance. Red also noticed another wound at her abdomen. The blood starting to pool and bleed quicker.

  She was frozen in shock, her breathing shallow.

  And Wolfe?

  His face was completely different.

  Gone was the charming stranger, the easy smile.

  His features were sharpened with something darker, something that had always been hiding beneath the surface.

  Predatory.

  Calculating.

  Red’s stomach dropped.

  For one terrifying second, she couldn’t move.

  Then, she screamed.

  “PETER!”

  She surged forward, her instincts overriding everything else.

  Wolfe’s head snapped toward her, and for just a second—just a second—his lips curled into something resembling amusement.

  Then, he moved.

  With inhuman speed, he shoved Cindy aside and darted toward the massive balcony window.

  Before Red could reach him—

  CRASH!

  Glass shattered as Wolfe dived straight through the window, disappearing into the night.

  Cold air rushed into the room, the curtains billowing wildly.

  Red barely registered the sound of pounding footsteps behind her as she dropped to her knees beside Cindy.

  Her friend was pale, trembling, her breaths uneven.

  Blood stained her shoulder, her arm and her stomach—he had cut her, but not deep enough to be fatal.

  “Cindy, hey—hey, stay with me,” Red murmured, pressing her hands against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding.

  Cindy blinked rapidly, struggling to focus. “He—he was…”

  Red shushed her, glancing toward the shattered window. The Wolf was gone. Again.

  Heavy boots thundered into the room.

  Peter. Hook. Hunter.

  All of them with their guns drawn, tense, ready.

  Hook took one look at the scene and let out a furious curse.

  Peter immediately dropped beside Red, yanking off his suit jacket.

  “Here—pressure, hold it here,” he ordered, helping Red press the fabric against Cindy’s wound.

  Red barely registered anything else.

  Her heart was hammering, her blood running cold.

  The Wolf had been here. Right here.

  And she had been too late.

  Again.