Amara barely remembered leaving the hotel hallway alive. One moment Damien Blackwood was staring at her with those cold grey eyes, and the next she was back downstairs carrying champagne trays while her hands trembled so badly she nearly dropped an entire bottle on a senator’s wife. Her mind replayed the scene endlessly. The blood. The silence. The way Damien had looked at her like he could see every frightened thought crossing her face. And worst of all? He knew her name. By midnight, the gala finally ended. Amara rushed into the employee locker room, changing out of her uniform as quickly as possible. Her body ached from exhaustion, but anxiety crawled beneath her skin too violently for sleep. Sienna sat cross-legged on one of the benches scrolling through her phone. “You look like you saw a ghost,” she said immediately. Amara grabbed her bag shakily. “I might have seen worse.” That got Sienna’s attention. “What happened?” Amara hesitated. Then shook her head. “I c
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