● CHAPTER 1: The Body in the Rain

Darkness dropped over the Meridian Club like a curtain.

For one terrifying second, the guests became nothing but gasps, shadows, and the blue glow of emergency exit signs. Someone screamed. Glass shattered near the champagne table. The string quartet stopped mid-note, which made the silence feel even worse.

“Amelia!” Claire shouted.

A hand grabbed her arm. She swung instinctively, landing an elbow into someone’s ribs. A man cursed. Claire had never considered herself athletic, but panic and student debt had given her excellent survival instincts.

“Claire!” Amelia’s voice came from the left. “I have it!”

A phone flashlight clicked on. Then another. Then fifty. The terrace filled with shaky beams of light, each one searching for scandal.

Grant stood at the altar, face stripped of charm. “Nobody leaves,” he snapped.

That was not a request.

Security men moved to block the elevators. Richard Vale shoved through the crowd toward Amelia, one hand inside his coat.

Claire stepped between them. “I would strongly advise you not to make this more interesting for the people filming.”

He looked around. Dozens of phones were pointed at him.

His hand came out empty.

“Smart,” Claire said. “Growth looks good on you.”

Amelia clutched the memory card in her fist. Her veil had come loose, rain catching in the lace. “My father knew.”

Grant’s voice softened, turning private for an audience. “Ames, you’re upset. Your father is unstable. He’s been paranoid for months.”

Claire looked at the guests. “Funny. The man collapsed trying to stop your wedding, and now the lights go out right after evidence appears. That’s either bad luck or very organized romance.”

A few nervous laughs broke the tension.

Grant’s eyes cut to her. “Who are you?”

Claire almost answered with the truth: Nobody. Fired paralegal. Woman with wet socks. Person who should have gone home.

Instead she said, “The person everyone ignored.”

The emergency generator hummed. Half the rooftop lights flickered back on.

At that moment, an elderly woman in a silver gown stepped from the crowd. Evelyn Hartwell, Nathaniel’s sister, had the posture of a queen and the eyes of a tax audit. She looked at Grant, then at Amelia, then at the memory card.

“Give it to me,” Evelyn said.

Amelia hesitated.

Claire expected comfort. Family. Rescue.

But Amelia whispered, “No.”

Evelyn’s smile remained. “Excuse me?”

Amelia backed toward Claire. “Dad warned me about Lydia Voss. But he never warned me about you.”

The old woman’s face hardened.

Then Claire understood. Lydia Voss might be the hand. Richard Vale might be the pen. Grant might be the groom.

But Evelyn Hartwell was the one who owned the room.

Evelyn raised her chin, and every security guard moved at once.

Claire grabbed Amelia’s hand.