"Stop her!" Elena screamed. "This is murder!"
Two security guards lunged forward to grab Serena.
Sebastian Cole stepped in their path. He was broad-shouldered, and he blocked them like a linebacker.
"Back off!" Sebastian roared. "Let her work!"
Serena didn't hesitate. She drove the metal tip of the pen into DuPont's throat.
Crunch.
Blood spurted. Mrs. DuPont wailed.
Serena didn't flinch. She twisted the pen casing, securing it in the trachea.
A faint sound of air moving through the tube reached her ears.
DuPont's chest rose. Then fell. Then rose again.
The purple hue began to fade from his face. His eyelids fluttered. He coughed, a wet, ragged sound.
Serena sat back on her heels. Her hands were covered in blood. Her dress was ruined. Her hair was falling out of its pins.
She looked magnificent.
Paramedics burst through the doors, carrying a stretcher and bags.
They rushed to the patient. The lead paramedic assessed the scene. He saw the pen in the neck. He checked the vitals.
"Who did this?" the paramedic asked, looking around, astonished.
Serena stood up. She grabbed a linen napkin and wiped the blood from her fingers. Her demeanor shifted instantly from action to clinical detachment.
"I did," she said calmly. "Airway obstruction. Heimlich failed. Emergency cricothyrotomy. He's stable but needs immediate transport."
The paramedic looked at her—a socialite in a ripped gown. "You got lucky, lady. Or you watch too much TV. That was risky."
Serena didn't correct him. She didn't flash a medical license. She just nodded. "Just get him to the hospital."
The room was dead silent.
Elena stepped forward, her face red with indignation. "See? Even the paramedic says she's crazy! She just got lucky!"
Sebastian stepped up beside Serena, placing a protective hand on her shoulder. He opened his mouth to speak, perhaps to boast about her credentials, but Serena shot him a warning glance. Silence.
Lord Kensington, the elderly man from the airport three years ago, stepped up to the microphone on the stage.
"Ladies and Gentlemen," his voice boomed, drawing attention away from the bloody floor.
"Please, give the paramedics room. And I would like to thank my goddaughter for her quick thinking."
He paused, looking at Julian.
"Serena Kensington has always had a steady hand."
Julian felt the ground shift beneath him. Kensington.
He looked at her. Really looked at her.
The eyes. The height. The scent.
It had to be her. But the skills? The confidence? The Kensington connection? It didn't fit the narrative of the Serena Vance he knew. The Serena Vance he knew dropped out of community college. This woman performed field surgery with a pen.
Was it possible he never knew his wife at all? Or was this an imposter? A remarkably similar looking woman playing a game?
Serena looked directly at Julian. She lifted her chin. Her expression was a challenge. What are you going to do about it, Julian?
Elena looked like she was going to vomit. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish.
Mrs. DuPont grabbed Serena's bloody hands, weeping in gratitude. "Thank you. Oh my god, thank you. You saved him."
The crowd erupted. Applause thundered through the hall. It was a standing ovation.
Serena turned her back on Julian to comfort Mrs. DuPont.
Julian tried to step forward. He wanted to grab her. He wanted to ask her how. Why.
But the crowd surged around her, a wall of admirers. He was pushed back.
He stood on the outside, looking in. For the first time in his life, Julian Sterling was the one who didn't matter.
