The harsh red and blue strobe lights of the emergency medical team reflected off the wet marble steps outside, casting long, frantic shadows across the grand stage. Paramedics worked with desperate, practiced speed, strapping Charlie Vane’s limp, blood. soaked body onto a mechanical stretcher. Oxygen masks were strapped over his pale face, his chest still bubbling weakly with dark crimson as they wheeled him rapidly down the center aisle toward the waiting ambulance.The crowd was in absolute disarray. High society elites were shouting, media crews were shoving past security, and the air was thick with the copper stench of fresh blood and sheer, unadulterated panic.In the middle of the stage, Elara stood at her full, majestic height. She clutched the multi-billion dollar signed contract against her chest, her fingers tracing the ink of Charlie’s fresh signature. Beside her, Tyler stood like an immovable monument of dark authority, his hand resting securely on her waist, his dark eyes
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