Amanda Carter ran like a woman chased by ghosts.

Her heels struck the marble floor in sharp, frantic cracks, one after another, as the ballroom exploded behind her. Guests screamed. Chairs scraped. A champagne flute shattered somewhere near the dessert tower, sending crystal and gold liquid across the floor like spilled sunlight. Amanda!” Ethan roared.

But his sister did not look back.

She shoved past two waiters, nearly knocking over a tray of pink cupcakes, then slammed her shoulder into the double doors leading toward the private corridor of Westfield Plaza. Security guards finally snapped out of their shock and rushed after her. Lily stood frozen beside the fountain, her tiny hands wrapped around her soaked stuffed bunny.

The recorder still sat in Ethan’s palm.

Vanessa’s voice had ended, but its echo remained.

“Amanda knows where I am.”

Those five words had turned the party into a battlefield.