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It’s magic.

Pure, undeniable magic.

But I’m not watching Amanda.

Not really.

I’m watching the crowd.

Scanning.

Assessing.

Clocking every face.

Every shift of posture.

Every hand that moves toward a pocket or a phone.

Because somewhere in this room—somewhere among these rich, smiling bastards—is the man who’s been sending threats.

The one who’s been stalking her.

I know he’s here.

I can feel it.

People like that can’t resist the moment.

They always want to see the show.

Always want to be close enough to their obsession to breathe the same air.

Fine.

Let him watch.

Let him sit there and pretend he belongs.

But he’s not getting anywhere near her.

Not tonight.

Not ever.

Because the second he makes a move—the second he tries anything—he’s going to learn a very important lesson.

Amanda Perkins might be the star of this show.

But I’m the fucking security.

And nobody gets past me.

Not while I’m still breathing.

Chapter 7

Amanda