Location: The Met Gala, New York City – One Week Later, 8:30 P.M.
Hartley had never walked a red carpet before, but tonight she owned it.
Sapphire blue gown, off-the-shoulder, slit to mid-thigh. Declan in a midnight tuxedo with matching pocket square. Cameras flashed like gunfire as the " Couple" of the moment made their way up the stairs of The Met.
Reporters shouted:
> "Hartley! How did it feel taking on the LaRue Empire?"
"Mr. Westcott, is it true you proposed for real?"
"Are you two in love or just making headlines?"
Declan leaned in, whispering against Hartley's ear, "If I kiss you right now, stocks will rise."
She smirked. "Then you better kiss me like it's a hostile takeover."
He dipped her just slightly—and kissed her in front of 200 cameras.
It was intense. Raw. Irrefutably real.
And for the first time, Hartley didn't care who was watching.
********
Inside – The Gala Floor
The museum's main gallery had been transformed into a crystalline ballroom. Music floated from a live quartet. Gold lights hung from vaulted ceilings.
Hartley walked beside Declan, her arm in his, glancing around at the world she used to watch from the outside.
Fashion editors. Royalty. CEOs. A-list everything.
"I feel like Cinderella," she murmured.
Declan leaned closer. "I feel like the wolf who married her."
"Fair enough."
Across the room, a waiter approached with champagne. Hartley took one.
Then paused.
There was a strange look in the waiter's eye.
Declan's hand instinctively went to her waist.
"You okay?" he asked, voice low.
"Yeah," she whispered. "Just... a weird vibe."
They kept walking, smiling for photos. But Hartley couldn't shake the feeling.
She'd lived through panic before—years of hospital visits, debt collectors, fake smiles. She knew what unease felt like.
This was worse.
************
9:07 P.M. – Center Stage
The host of the gala, a billionaire fashion mogul, tapped the mic.
"Ladies and gentlemen," she said, "we have a surprise tonight—an exclusive unveiling of the Blackwood Foundation's new pediatric center. And to present it…. Declan and Hartley Westcott."
Applause. Cameras. Spotlight.
Declan and Hartley took the stage.
Hartley smiled, though her heart was hammering.
She was mid-speech when she saw him.
The waiter from before.
Only now—he wasn't carrying champagne.
He was moving fast.
Toward the stage.
Hand in jacket pocket.
"Declan," she hissed, stepping closer.
"What?"
"That waiter—he's not a waiter."
Declan turned, eyes narrowing just as the man lunged up the stairs.
Shouting.
Chaos.
Security screamed too late.
And then Hartley saw it—a knife.
The man lunged—at Declan.
Hartley moved without thinking.
She shoved Declan hard—off balance.
The blade slashed downward.
Pain.
A hot, ripping sensation across her ribs.
The world slowed.
Gasps.
Screams.
Then blood.
Her blood.
********
9:10 P.M. – Ambulance Bay, Emergency Lights Flashing
Declan's hands were red. Holding her. Pressing fabric against the wound just below her ribs. He shouted to paramedics but didn't hear himself.
"Stay awake, Hartley."
She blinked. "You're ruining my dress."
"I'll buy you ten more."
"Make it twenty."
Her lips trembled with a smile.
Then her eyes rolled back.
"Hartley! Hartley!! Hartley!!"
—-------
Blackwood Medical – Emergency Ward, 11:00 P.M.
She survived.
Barely.
The knife had missed her lung by a centimeter. Two inches deeper, and it would've been fatal.
Declan sat beside her bed, shirt stained, hair a mess. His phone was off. The board was on standby. The world could wait.
"Her name's Hartley," he told the nurse. "Don't call her 'the patient.'"
"Of course, Mr. Westcott."
"And find out who let that man in. I want names. I want their addresses. I want them broken before morning."
The nurse gave a stiff nod and vanished.
—------
Meanwhile – Somewhere in Manhattan
A hidden burner phone rang.
"Did you get him?" a woman's voice asked.
"No," the man said. "She got in the way."
A beat of silence.
Then laughter.
"Of course she did," Camilla said. "That girl's becoming quite the problem."
"Want me to try again?"
"No. I want to destroy her slowly. Painfully. She thinks she's won? I haven't even started yet."
She hung up.
—-------
Back at the Hospital – Hartley's Room, 3:00 A.M.
Her eyelids fluttered.
"Declan?"
He leaned forward, grabbing her hand. "I'm here."
"Did... I bleed on the Met's priceless floor?"
A hoarse laugh escaped him. "They're billing us for it."
She winced. "Figures."
Then: "You okay?"
He kissed her hand. "You'
re the one who took a knife for me."
"You're the one who made me care enough to."
He looked at her, broken, amazed.
"You're not allowed to die," he said. "Ever."
"Not planning to."
And she squeezed his hand.