GUILTY OF LOVING YOU

POV: Lisa

The first thing Lisa heard was her father’s name.

Not the music from the ballroom. Not the clink of crystal or the polished laughter of two hundred forty-three people performing their best version of a Tuesday night in Manhattan.

The name.

Hasse.

It slipped from a detective’s mouth in a low voice, careless enough to travel, sharp enough to enter her body before her mind could defend itself.

Lisa did not move.

She stood at the edge of the Waldorf-Astoria’s private corridor with a champagne flute still in her hand, untouched, useless, trembling only because her fingers had begun to tremble. At the end of the hallway, white marble was no longer white. A dark stain spread across it with patient certainty.

Victor Elsner was no longer standing anywhere in the room.

For one impossible second, Lisa’s mind tried to reject the order of things. Victor could not be on the floor. Ethan could not be twelve meters away looking as if the ground had been taken from under him. Her father could not be standing near two officers with his hands at his sides and that terrible calm on his face.

But the room had already decided what it was.

A crime scene.

And someone had already decided where to point.

At Edward Hasse.

Forty minutes earlier, Lisa had been laughing in Ethan Elsner’s arms.

The private study had smelled faintly of old wood, leather and expensive liquor. A lamp had thrown a pool of gold across the carpet. Ethan’s jacket had been abandoned over the back of a chair. Her engagement ring rested on the edge of the desk because she had taken it off before he pulled her close.

—Always so practical, he murmured.

—Always.

—It’s one of the reasons I love you.

—How many are there?

—Enough that I won’t finish the list tonight.

She smiled against his mouth. He smiled back, not the controlled corporate smile he used for investors and cameras, but the real one. The one that appeared only when no one was watching and he did not have to be Ethan Elsner, heir, CEO-in-waiting, perfect son, perfect future husband.

He could simply be Ethan.

And she could simply be Lisa.

No surname. No gala. No families watching from opposite sides of the same empire.

For twenty-two stolen minutes, the world stayed outside the door.

Then Victor’s voice cut through the hallway.

—Edward, not here.

Lisa froze.

Ethan’s hand stilled at her waist. The name had come from outside the study, low and strained, but close enough to turn happiness into alertness. Lisa lifted one finger to her lips. Ethan’s eyes narrowed with reluctant amusement, then with something darker when the second voice answered.

Her father.

—You asked me to come tonight, Edward said.

—You said it could not wait.

—It cannot, Victor replied.

—That is exactly why we must be careful.

A silence followed. Not empty. Loaded.

Lisa looked at Ethan.

He opened his mouth, probably to tell her they should not listen, but footsteps moved past the door before he could speak. Two sets. One heavy, one measured. Then a third sound, softer, almost hidden by the ballroom applause: the quick retreat of someone in heels.

Lisa reached for the door handle.

Ethan caught her wrist.

—Don’t.

—My father is out there.

—And mine.

That stopped her because the sentence was not an argument. It was a wound neither of them had chosen yet.

Outside, the gala continued to shine. Through the thin wall came music, laughter, the bright spill of money pretending itself immortal. The Victor Elsner Foundation had filled the hotel with politicians, actresses, executives and heirs who did not know how close they were standing to ruin.

Lisa pulled her wrist free, gently.

—Ethan.

He looked at her hand. Then at the ring on the desk.

—After tonight, no more hiding in rooms.

—Is that a proposal or a command?

—It’s a request.

His voice lowered.

—Marry me loudly.

She laughed despite the tension.

That was the last easy sound she made that night.

The first shot did not sound real.

It cracked through the corridor like something mechanical breaking inside the walls. Lisa flinched. Ethan moved before she understood what had happened. He pulled her behind him and covered her mouth with his hand, not to silence her out of cruelty, but to keep one instinct from killing them both.

A second shot followed.

Closer.

Then the beginning of a scream that someone never finished.

Ethan’s body stood between Lisa and the door. His heartbeat hammered through the back of her shoulder. For three seconds, neither of them breathed. The study, the ring, the future, the whole stupid shining night narrowed into the heat of his palm against her mouth and the sound of panic breaking loose outside.

Then, on the other side of the wall, came the dull, final sound of a body hitting the floor.

Ethan dropped his hand.

Lisa knew before he moved. She knew from the change in his face, from the way love left his eyes and terror entered in its place.

—Don’t go out, he said.

Lisa went out anyway.