I stood there, taking a slap I never deserved—until the security camera proved I had never touched a thing.

The world tilted. Emily stumbled back, nearly dropping the black keycard.

“What did you say?” Emily demanded, her voice rising above the classical music playing in the ballroom.

Rousseau simply smiled, turned on her heel, and melted back into the crowd of billionaires.

Daniel grabbed Emily’s shoulders. “Emily, what did she say to you?”

“My mother,” Emily gasped, panic seizing her lungs. She frantically dug into her clutch, pulling out her phone and dialing the Oakwood Care Facility.

It rang three times before the night nurse answered.

“Oakwood, how can I help you?”

“This is Emily Davis—Thorne. I need you to check on my mother, Claire Thorne, right now!”

“Oh, Miss Thorne,” the nurse sounded confused. “I was just about to call you. A private medical transport team arrived an hour ago. They had fully authorized transfer papers signed by your father’s estate. They moved her.”

“Moved her where?!” Emily screamed, drawing stares from the surrounding guests.

“To a specialized facility in Europe. Switzerland, I believe.”

The phone slipped from Emily’s hand, clattering against the marble floor. The Syndicate hadn't just stolen money; they had stolen her mother. Her mother hadn't just been a victim of Arthur’s abandonment—she had been a hostage for ten years to ensure Arthur kept his mouth shut. And now that Arthur was in Daniel’s custody, the Syndicate had called in their leverage.

“They have her,” Emily choked out, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Daniel, they have my mom.”

Daniel’s eyes darkened with a terrifying, absolute fury. He looked at the black keycard in Emily’s hand.

“Room 404,” Daniel said grimly. He reached into his tuxedo jacket, double-checking the concealed firearm strapped in his shoulder holster. “Let’s go get her.”

They abandoned the ballroom, slipping past the security guards and into the private, restricted wings of the chateau. They found the gilded elevator and swiped the black card.

The elevator shot upward, the silence between them heavy with impending violence. Daniel stood in front of Emily, shielding her with his body as the doors chimed and slid open to the penthouse floor.

The corridor was lined with heavily armed mercenaries wearing Syndicate insignias. Seeing Daniel and Emily, they didn't raise their weapons. Instead, they silently stepped aside, parting like the Red Sea, gesturing toward massive double oak doors at the end of the hall.

“Whatever happens in there,” Daniel whispered, never taking his eyes off the doors, “you stay behind me.”