Thirty-two weeks pregnant, I watched my husband walk into his family’s Christmas party with another woman wearing the diamond necklace he had secretly purchased during a hotel stay.

"The safe in the study," Matthias hissed, grabbing my hand, his palms slick with cold sweat. "The hard drive with the offshore passkeys is in my father's safe. If I hand it over to them, they take the cash and they walk. Nobody gets hurt."

"You lied to me for months," I said, pulling back against his weight. "You brought your mistress into our house wearing a quarter-million dollars on her neck, and now you want me to trust you?"

"If you don't trust me, our baby dies in this room, Serena!" he spat, his face twisted in ugly panic.

That was his mistake.

A cornered coward always shows his teeth to the weakest person in the room. But I wasn't weak. I had spent eight months cultivating life inside my body, shielding her from the stress of his lies. I wasn't about to let his greed write her eulogy.

"Logan!" I called out across the small clearance between the pillars.

Logan Vance moved instantly, stepping beside me, his tall, athletic frame cutting off Matthias's path.

"Stay out of this, Vance," Matthias growled.

"Serena," Logan ignored him completely, speaking directly to me. "I took a look outside before I walked in. The cell repeater on the carriage house roof has been dismantled. Our phones have zero bars. The landlines in the coat check are cut."

The string quartet suddenly stopped playing.

The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating.

The lead violinist lowered his bow, looking nervously toward the east entrance. One of the tactical guards had quietly slid the heavy iron deadbolt into place. Across the room, another guard was doing the same to the French doors leading to the snow-covered terrace.

Arthur Dre’s booming voice suddenly echoed from the center of the ballroom. "Excuse me, gentlemen! What is the meaning of locking those doors? We have guests arriving from the country club!"