Wyatt Morgan stood at the door, completely stunned.
He had never imagined that Vivian, that quiet and obedient girl who used to speak so softly when she was little, that gentle little lamb who made people instinctively want to protect her, would one day reveal such a sharp, resolute side.
Her back was ramrod straight, her gaze like a blade, her tone leaving no room for retreat, as if she'd shed her skin in an instant and become a completely different person.
From the end of the corridor came a rush of hurried, chaotic footsteps, drawing closer and clearer.
The sound was a jumble of high heels clicking crisply against the floor, men talking, and women whispering in startled suspicion, like a warning before a storm.
He snapped his head toward the noise and saw a crowd surging up from the stairwell. At the front were hotel staff, followed by several well-dressed guests, clearly drawn over by some rumor of commotion.
