Chapter 4

The after-party was at some ridiculously trendy club downtown, pulsing with strobe lights and deafening music. I needed noise. I needed chaos. I needed to numb the throbbing ache in my chest.

I found a dark corner booth and signaled for a bottle of vodka. Neat.

From my vantage point, I could see Chloe holding court, surrounded by a gaggle of fawning admirers, all eager to curry favor with the girl who had a mysterious, infinitely wealthy benefactor.

And Ethan. He was always there, a few steps away, his eyes constantly scanning the room, but always returning to Chloe. He'd occasionally murmur something to her, and she'd laugh, touching his arm lightly.

Each glance, each shared smile, was another twist of the knife.

A couple of greasy Euro-types tried to slide into my booth.

"Alone, beautiful?" one slurred, his breath reeking of stale champagne.

"Not interested," I said, my voice flat.

"Ah, playing hard to get," the other one grinned, reaching for my arm.

"Ethan!" My voice cut through the din, sharper than I intended.

He was across the room, but his head snapped towards me instantly. His eyes narrowed as he took in the situation. With a quiet word to Chloe, he moved.

He didn't run. He didn't rush. He just appeared, a silent, formidable presence beside my booth.

"Is there a problem, Miss Monroe?" he asked, his voice low and devoid of inflection, but the two Euro-trash vultures suddenly looked very uneasy.

"They were just leaving," I said, my gaze cold.

They scrambled away, muttering apologies.

Ethan remained standing there. "Are you alright?"

"Never better," I said, taking a large swallow of vodka. It burned its way down, a welcome sensation. "Just enjoying the ambiance."

He looked at the bottle, then at me. "Perhaps you should slow down."

"Perhaps you should mind your own business," I retorted. "Oh, wait. I'm not your business anymore, am I? Chloe is. Go back to her. She might need you to fetch her a drink. Or another diamond tiara."

His jaw tightened. "My concern was for your well-being, Miss Monroe."

"Was it?" I laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. "Or were you just worried I'd make a scene and embarrass your precious Chloe?" I leaned forward. "Don't worry, Knight. I'm leaving soon. For Boston. To marry my comatose fiancé. Then I'll be out of your hair for good. You and Chloe can live happily ever after."

His eyes flickered. The mention of Julian, of Boston, seemed to register. But he said nothing.

"If you'll excuse me," he said, his voice clipped. He turned and walked back towards Chloe, who greeted him with a bright, relieved smile.

I watched them, the vodka doing little to dull the ache. It only sharpened the edges of my pain, making it more vivid, more unbearable.

Suddenly, a commotion erupted near the club's entrance. Shouts, screams.

The music cut out.

"He's got a tiger!" someone shrieked. "A live tiger!"

My blood ran cold. This club was owned by some eccentric animal collector who was always pushing boundaries. It sounded like one of his "exhibits" had gotten loose.

Panic erupted. People scrambled, pushing, shoving, trying to flee.

I saw Ethan react instantly. His focus, as always, was on Chloe.

He grabbed her arm, his body shielding hers, and started moving her towards a side exit, his movements quick and efficient.

"Ava!" Chloe screamed, looking back, her eyes wide with terror.

Ethan didn't look back. His priority was clear.

The crowd surged around me, a wave of terrified bodies. I was knocked sideways, stumbling, trying to find an escape route.

Then I saw it.

A massive Bengal tiger, its eyes gleaming in the dim emergency lights, stalking through the panicked clubbers. It let out a deafening roar.

It was heading vaguely in my direction, but more accurately, towards the area where Ethan was trying to get Chloe out.

People were screaming, falling, a chaotic stampede.

I was pushed hard from behind, my ankle twisting beneath me. I cried out, falling to the ground.

Pain shot up my leg.

I looked up, dazed.

The tiger was closer now, its attention drawn by the movement, by the scent of fear.

And then, through the screaming chaos, I saw Ethan.

He had pushed Chloe through the exit. She was safe.

He turned back, his eyes scanning the room, presumably to ensure the threat was contained or to assist others.

His gaze met mine. For a split second.

Then the tiger lunged.

Not at him.

At me.

I saw its massive paws, its bared fangs, the terrifying speed of its attack.

I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the inevitable.

A searing pain ripped through my shoulder and arm as claws tore into flesh.

My last conscious thought, as darkness enveloped me, was the image of Ethan Knight, standing near the exit, his face a mask of horror, but his body unmoving to help me. He had made his choice. Chloe was safe. I was not his concern.