Vincent’s father shouted so loudly that his voice echoed throughout the mansion.

For one terrifying second, nobody moved.

Then the three armed men behind the glᴀss doors raised their weapons.

Guests screamed.

Champagne glᴀsses shattered against the marble floor. Women rushed beneath tables while security guards drew their guns and surrounded the ice rink.

Vincent immediately pulled me behind him.

“Everybody down!” he commanded.

His voice was cold, powerful, and unmistakably dangerous.

I stared at the elderly man standing across the rink.

Richard Blackwood.

The man who had destroyed my career, murdered innocent people, and ordered someone to make sure I never left Riverside Ice Arena alive.

Five years.

Five years of nightmares.

Five years of hiding my idenтιтy.

And now he was standing less than fifty feet away.

“You recognize me, don’t you, Richard?” I called out.

His face twisted.

“Shut your mouth!”

I stepped out from behind Vincent.

“Why? Afraid I’ll tell everyone what happened that night?”

Richard pointed at me with a trembling finger.

“You should have burned with the others!”

Vincent slowly turned his head.

“The others?”

Richard realized his mistake.

His lips parted, but no words came out.

Vincent’s expression darkened.

“Father, what exactly happened at Riverside five years ago?”

“She’s manipulating you!”

“I’m asking you a question.”

Richard glanced at the armed men.

“Get her out of here. Now!”

But Vincent didn’t move.

Instead, he took off his black jacket and placed it around my shoulders.

Then he looked at his head of security.

“Lock down the entire mansion. Nobody enters or leaves without my permission.”

“Yes, boss.”

Vanessa suddenly rushed toward Vincent.

“Darling, what are you doing? She’s just a maid!”

Vincent didn’t even look at her.

“Get away from me, Vanessa.”

Her face turned pale.

“But you promised we would announce our engagement tonight!”

“Not now.”

“Vincent!”

He finally turned toward her.

“Unless you want to become part of this investigation, I suggest you remain silent.”

Vanessa stepped backward.

I could see the anger in her eyes.

But I didn’t care.

My attention remained fixed on Richard.

“Where are the files?” I demanded.

Richard laughed nervously.

“You think you can walk into my son’s home and demand anything from me?”

“No. I think you know exactly why I came here.”

I reached into the small pocket of my skating dress and pulled out an old silver pendant.

It was blackened around the edges, with a tiny engraving of a swan.

Richard stopped breathing.

“Where did you get that?”

I opened the pendant.

Inside was a pH๏τograph of my younger self standing beside my father.

Richard’s face lost every trace of color.

“Your security team missed one thing that night,” I said quietly. “They never found my father’s belongings.”

Vincent looked at the pendant.

“Who was your father?”

I swallowed.

“Daniel Carter. He was the financial director of Riverside Ice Arena.”

Richard’s jaw тιԍнтened.

My father had discovered that the arena was being used to conceal illegal financial transactions involving several powerful businessmen.

He had collected evidence.

He had planned to hand everything to federal investigators.

But before he could do that, the arena burned.

My father died.

Several employees died.

And I was declared ᴅᴇᴀᴅ because Richard paid someone to identify a burned body as mine.

At least, that was what the newspapers reported.

I survived because my father had hidden me inside an emergency maintenance tunnel shortly before the fire reached the main building.

I spent months recovering from my injuries.

When I finally returned to the outside world, I discovered that my father’s evidence had disappeared and the people responsible were still untouchable.

So I vanished.

I changed my name.

I abandoned skating.

And I waited.

Vincent stared at me.

“You were Daniel Carter’s daughter?”

“Yes.”

His expression changed.

“My father told me Daniel stole millions from the company before the fire.”

I shook my head.

“That was the lie he created to cover his tracks.”

Richard suddenly pulled a small pistol from inside his tuxedo.

“ENOUGH!”

Vincent’s security guards raised their weapons.

“Put it down, Richard!” one of them shouted.

But Richard pressed the gun toward me.

“Five years ago, I should have made certain you were ᴅᴇᴀᴅ!”

Vincent stepped forward.

“Lower your weapon.”

Richard laughed.

“You think I fear you, boy? Everything you own exists because of me!”

“Not anymore.”

“Move away from her!”

Vincent’s eyes turned ice-cold.

“You’re pointing a gun at the woman standing beside me. That makes this my problem.”

I grabbed Vincent’s arm.

“Don’t.”

He glanced at me.

I shook my head.

“Let him talk.”

I wanted Richard to confess.

I needed him to say what happened that night.

And I needed everyone in that room to hear it.

Richard’s hand trembled.

“You don’t understand anything! Your father was going to destroy everything!”

“So you burned the arena?”

“He left me no choice!”

The words escaped his mouth before he could stop them.

Silence swallowed the ballroom.

Vincent froze.

Even Vanessa covered her mouth.

I felt my knees weaken.

For five years, I had imagined hearing those words.

I had imagined the moment the man responsible would finally admit what he had done.

But hearing it with my own ears hurt more than I expected.

“You killed my father,” I whispered.

Richard’s eyes hardened.

“He should have stayed out of my business.”

“And the people who died with him?”

“They were unfortunate witnesses.”

I closed my eyes.

My hands were shaking.

Vincent looked at his father as if he were seeing a stranger.

“You murdered innocent people?”

Richard pointed his gun at him.

“I built this empire! I did what was necessary!”

Vincent slowly raised his hands.

“You’re finished.”

Suddenly, a gunsH๏τ exploded.

BANG!

I screamed.

Vincent staggered backward, clutching his left shoulder.

Blood spread across his black shirt.

“VINCENT!”

Before Richard could fire again, Vincent’s security team tackled him to the ice.

His pistol slid across the rink.

Two guards restrained his arms while another kicked the weapon away.

But Richard was still laughing.

“You fools! You think arresting me changes anything?”

Vincent pressed a hand against his wound.

“Call the police,” he ordered.

One of his men hesitated.

“Boss, are you sure?”

Vincent glared at him.

“I said call the police. And notify the federal authorities. I want every record connected to Riverside turned over.”

Richard’s laughter disappeared.

“Vincent, don’t you dare!”

For the first time that evening, I saw fear in his eyes.

Real fear.

The kind I had carried for five years.

I knelt beside Vincent and pressed my hand against his shoulder.

“Stay with me.”

He looked at me.

Despite the blood, he managed a faint smile.

“You’re still worried about me?”

“You’re bleeding, idiot.”

He gave a quiet laugh, then winced.

“That’s the first time you’ve called me that.”

“Don’t make me regret it.”

His eyes held mine.

“Emily, the files… I’ll give you everything.”

I stared at him.

“You don’t even know what’s inside them.”

“Then we’ll find out together.”

Before I could answer, his head of security approached.

“Boss, there’s something else.”

Vincent looked up.

“What?”

The guard held out a small black envelope.

“We found this in Richard’s private office. It was hidden behind a false panel in his desk.”

My heart began pounding.

On the envelope, written in faded handwriting, were three words:

DANIEL CARTER — ORIGINAL EVIDENCE.

I took it with trembling fingers.

Inside was a small flash drive and a folded letter.

The handwriting was unmistakable.

My father’s.

I opened the letter.

Emily,

If you’re reading this, then I failed to protect you.

I need you to understand something. Richard Blackwood did not act alone.

Someone inside our family helped him arrange the fire. Someone who knew about the emergency exits, the security cameras, and the exact location where I kept the original financial records.

I trusted that person with my life.

And so did you.

My breath caught.

At the bottom of the letter was a name.

I read it once.

Then again.

My fingers went numb.

It wasn’t Richard Blackwood.

It wasn’t one of his business partners.

It was someone I had believed had died trying to save me that night.

Someone whose pH๏τograph I had kept hidden for five years.

My former skating coach, Michael Hayes.

I slowly looked up at Vincent.

“Do you know this man?”

Vincent’s expression changed.

“Michael Hayes?”

“You know him?”

He nodded slowly.

“He’s been working for my father for nearly twenty years.”

My stomach dropped.

“Where is he now?”

Vincent looked toward his security chief.

“Find him.”

The guard hesitated.

“Boss… there’s a problem.”

“What problem?”

“Michael Hayes is already inside the mansion.”

I turned toward the ballroom entrance.

A tall man in a dark suit stood beneath the chandelier.

His silver hair was neatly combed. His expression was calm.

And in his hand was a champagne glᴀss.

Michael smiled at me.

The same smile he had given me before every championship.

The same man who had taught me how to land my first triple jump.

The same man who had held my hand when I was afraid of falling.

He raised his glᴀss.

“Congratulations, Emily.”

My blood turned to ice.

“Michael…”

He placed the glᴀss on a nearby table.

“I always knew you’d survive.”

Vincent struggled to stand.

“Security! Don’t let him move!”

But Michael simply smiled.

“You’re too late, Vincent.”

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small remote control.

Then he looked directly at me.

“Your father left you one final secret, Emily. And if you want to know why he really died, you’ll have to come with me.”

His thumb hovered over the ʙuттon.

Behind him, the enormous ice sculpture began to crack.

And then the ballroom screens suddenly flickered to life.

A video appeared.

It showed Riverside Ice Arena five years earlier.

My father was standing in the middle of the empty rink.

Behind him was a man wearing a black coat.

A man whose face I had never forgotten.

Michael Hayes.

But the next person who appeared on the screen made my heart stop.

It was me.

Not the twenty-five-year-old woman standing in Vincent’s mansion.

It was the seventeen-year-old Emily Carter, hours before the fire.

And I was holding a document.

Michael leaned closer and whispered:

“Now, everyone will finally learn what you did that night.”

TO BE CONTINUED — PART 3.