Page 30 of Fallen Heir
Then everything inside me shattered.
My knees buckled. The breath caught in my chest turned to fire. The panic consumed me—crashing over me like a tidal wave I couldn’t outrun. Darkness surged through my limbs, the walls spinning, the air thinning.
Sweet Savannah.
His voice echoed in my head. Wrong. Twisted. Claimed.
My name didn’t sound like mine anymore. It sounded like something broken. Stolen.
I tried to breathe. I couldn’t.
My lungs refused to work, my body refusing to believe I was safe—even when I was finally alone.
I gripped the edge of the wall, fingers scrambling for something—anything—solid. But it was too late.
I tried to call for help. Maybe I even did. But no sound came out. Just breath. Ragged. Shallow.
Get up, Savannah.
But I couldn’t.
I hit the floor.
And this time…
I didn’t fight it.
Chapter 12
Jaxson
The second my phone rang and I saw Ben’s name, I knew something was wrong.
“Jax,” he said, no greeting, just grit. “It’s like she’d seen a ghost.”
I stood just outside the ballroom, the sound of laughter and string music floating from behind the double doors.
Ben’s voice dropped. “I don’t think it was Bruce.”
That got my attention.
“I’m headed to the office,” he continued. “Going back through the files. She’s terrified. Like—paralyzedterrified. And I can’t shake it.”
Then the line went dead.
I didn’t go back inside. Normally, I stayed to help wrap up the event. Schmooze with donors. Thank the staff. Handle the press. But I’d already given my speech. So not tonight. Tonight, someone else could sweep up the glitter and collect the champagne flutes. Because if Ben was right—and he was always right—we had a problem. And I had a feeling it was already too close to her.
I parked, sprinted to the elevator, hitting the button with more force than necessary, pacing like a caged animal as it crawled floor by floor. When I stepped into the conference room, Ben was already there. Files spread across the massive table like a crime scene—photos, ledgers, dossiers from everything Ben had dug up in just days, each one marked and categorized with obsessive precision.
He didn’t look up when I entered. Just held up a single photo between two fingers.
“This,” he said, voice clipped, “is him.”
My stomach dropped.
Ben finally met my eyes. “No name. Not one we’ve ever pinned. I’ve only seen him in the background of a few events. Quiet. Always polished. Never draws attention.”
He handed me the photo.
