"He thought he was exposing a fake pregnancy at the altar—until his son’s secret recording revealed a far more dangerous lie.

The kitchen was vast, a commercial-grade maze of stainless steel islands, walk-in coolers, and heavy preparation tables. Outside, the rain had begun to hammer against the tall arched windows, drowning out the ambient sounds of the night.

Daniel slipped through the service door, his back pressed against the cold steel of the industrial refrigerator.

A shadow moved past the doorway leading to the conservatory. One of Thorne’s mercenaries, moving low, his suppressed carbine sweeping the empty room.

Daniel waited until the man’s flashlight beam swept past his boots.

In a single, explosive movement, Daniel lunged forward. He caught the mercenary’s rifle barrel with his left hand, forcing it downward, while driving the steel slide of his .45 into the man’s temple. The soldier collapsed without a sound, his body hitting the rubber kitchen mat with a dull thud.

Daniel stripped the man’s tactical vest, securing two smoke canisters and a radio.

Through the radio’s earpiece, Thorne’s voice crackled: *“Team Two, report. Did you clear the west wing?”*

Daniel keyed the mic, remaining silent, letting the static hiss.

*“Celia, take Team Three to the basement,”* Thorne’s voice continued, slightly more hurried now. *“The police sirens are at the base of the bluff. We have four minutes before the coastal perimeter is locked down. Retrieve the drive or burn the structure to the ground.”*

Daniel’s blood turned to ice. *The basement.*

Leo was locked in the pantry dumbwaiter shaft, which opened directly into the subterranean cellar where the estate’s wine and emergency provisions were stored.

Daniel sprinted through the dark hallway, abandoning stealth for speed.

He arrived at the heavy iron basement door just as the latch clicked open from the inside. Evelyn was standing in the doorway, holding a flashlight in one hand and a suppressed pistol in the other.

When she saw Daniel, her eyes flared with psychotic glee.

“There you are, darling,” she sneered, raising her weapon. “Too late for the vows, I’m afraid.”

Before she could pull the trigger, Daniel threw the heavy smoke canister he had taken from the mercenary directly into her chest. It struck her collarbone with a sickening crack, and the pin, already pulled, released a blinding, suffocating cloud of white phosphorus smoke directly into her face.

Evelyn screamed, coughing violently, firing three wild shots into the ceiling as the smoke swallowed the corridor.

Daniel stepped through the haze, caught her wrist, twisted it until the bone dislocated with an audible snap, and tore the pistol from her grip. He slammed her backward against the stone wall, his hand wrapping around her throat with the force of a hydraulic clamp.

“Where is Julian?” Daniel growled into her ear, the smoke stinging his eyes, his voice dripping with venom.