His fiancée expected Enzo to punish the maid for taking her glass—instead, he protected the maid and discovered a secret someone in the ballroom desperately wanted buried.

That was what terrified Adeline most.

It slipped under the attic door in a thin gray line, quiet as a secret.

For one second, everyone froze.

Then Enzo moved.

“Marisol, take Lucia.”

Lucia protested immediately.

“No.”

“Now.”

Adeline grabbed the journals from the trunk.

Enzo turned.

“Leave them.”

“No.”

“Adeline.”

“These are your mother’s words.”

“And you are alive.”

The words hit her hard enough to stop her.

Then he softened his voice.

“Please.”

That one word nearly undid her.

Powerful men ordered.

Desperate men said please.

She shoved the journals into Marisol’s arms.

“Take these. I’ll help with the rest.”

“No,” Enzo said.

But Adeline was already moving.

She grabbed the photograph, the loose folder, and one small box of letters. Smoke thickened. Downstairs, alarms began shrieking through the mansion.

Marisol supported Lucia toward the back stairwell.

Enzo pulled his phone and barked orders.

“East wing. Fire suppression. Seal the ballroom. Find the source.”

Adeline coughed.

He turned instantly.

“Go.”

She shook her head.

“There are more trunks.”

“I said go.”

“And I said no.”

His eyes flashed.

For a moment, they stared at each other like two stubborn tragedies refusing to blink.

Then another shout came from below.

“Sir! East corridor is blocked!”

Enzo swore.

Lucia called from the stairwell, “Enzo!”

He looked once at the trunks.

Then at the smoke.

Then at Adeline.

“We leave now.”

He took the box from her arms with one hand and her wrist with the other.

Not hard.

Just enough to guide.

They moved into the hallway where smoke had already blurred the portraits. Heat pulsed from the east corridor. Sprinklers activated somewhere below, but not here.

Adeline covered her mouth with her sleeve.

The house groaned.

Enzo pushed open a narrow servant door hidden behind a paneled wall.

Adeline stared despite the smoke.

“There’s a passage?”

“It’s an old house.”

“Of course it has secret passages.”

“Complain while walking.”

They entered the passage.

It was narrow, dark, and cold, with stone walls and old wooden stairs leading down. Enzo moved first, keeping one hand behind him so Adeline could follow.

Halfway down, a figure appeared below.

A man in black.

For one second, Adeline thought he was security.

Then she saw the gasoline can.

Enzo saw it too.

“Stop.”

The man bolted downward.

Enzo moved after him.

Adeline grabbed his arm.

“The fire!”

“Stay here.”

“No.”

“Adeline—”

The man disappeared around a turn.

Enzo’s face hardened.

He pulled a small radio from his pocket.

“Basement passage. Suspect heading south.”

A voice crackled back.

“On him.”

Enzo did not chase.

Adeline realized that cost him something.

He turned back to her.

“Move.”

They descended into the servants’ corridor behind the kitchen. Staff were evacuating through the rear entrance. Smoke alarms screamed. Sprinklers soaked the marble. Two guards rushed past carrying fire extinguishers.

Lucia was outside already, wrapped in a blanket, clutching Sofia’s journals against her chest like a newborn.

Marisol stood beside her, soaked and furious.

“The fire department is three minutes out.”

Enzo handed her the box.

“Where did it start?”

“East wing. Near the attic stairwell.”

Adeline looked back at the house.

“They knew where we were.”

No one answered.

Because they all knew she was right.

A guard ran toward Enzo.

“We caught him.”

“Alive?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.”

The guard hesitated.

“He says he works for the catering company.”

Marisol laughed without humor.

“Of course he does.”

“Bring him to the police,” Enzo said.

Adeline watched smoke rise from the roofline.

The sun was fully up now.

Belladonna House, which had survived storms, funerals, whispered deals, and one ruined engagement, now looked wounded.

Lucia stared at the smoke with tears in her eyes.

“My daughter’s things.”

Adeline touched the old woman’s arm.

“We saved the journals.”

“Not all.”

Enzo overheard.

His face tightened, but he said nothing.

Fire trucks arrived with sirens screaming. Neighbors gathered beyond the gates. Reporters appeared as if they had been hiding in the hedges.

Cameras lifted.

Questions flew.

“Mr. Marchetti, was this related to last night?”

“Is Camilla Ashford under arrest?”

“Was there an attempted murder?”

“Who is the maid?”

Adeline flinched at that last question.

Enzo stepped in front of her.

A reporter shouted, “Is she your mistress?”

The air went still.

Adeline felt the words hit like mud.

Marisol snapped, “Back up.”

But the reporter pressed.

“Sources say Miss Croft staged the glass incident to get close to you. Is that true?”

Enzo turned slowly.

The reporter, a young man in an expensive coat, lost confidence under that stare.

Enzo spoke clearly enough for every camera to catch.

“Her name is Adeline Croft.”

The cameras zoomed in.

“She is a witness in a criminal investigation. She is the daughter of a woman who tried to expose corruption in this city. She protected my grandmother last night while two hundred guests did nothing.”

Adeline stopped breathing.

Enzo continued.

“If anyone calls her anything less than brave again, they will answer to the truth they are trying to avoid.”

The reporter lowered his microphone.

Adeline stared at Enzo’s back.

This was not the protection of a man claiming a woman.

It was something rarer.

A man returning her name.

Detective Ellison arrived moments later, hair pulled back, face grim.

She walked straight to Enzo.

“Tell me about the suspect.”

“Security has him.”

“Good. We’ll take custody.”

Marisol handed over initial details.

Adeline approached Ellison.

“The fire started after we found Sofia’s journals.”

Ellison’s eyes sharpened.

“You found what?”

Enzo answered.

“My mother’s records.”

The detective looked toward the burning east wing.

“Then whoever did this panicked.”

“Or they improvised,” Marisol said.

Ellison nodded.

“Either way, they made mistakes.”

A commotion rose near the gate.

Everyone turned.

A black town car had stopped outside.

Camilla stepped out.

Adeline felt ice slide through her.

Camilla was not in custody.

She had changed clothes.

White coat.

Dark glasses.

Perfect hair.

She looked less like a suspect than a grieving fiancée arriving at a hospital.

Reporters swarmed her.

Camilla removed her sunglasses slowly.

Her eyes were red, but whether from crying or performance, no one could tell.

She looked directly at the cameras.

“I came because I was told Belladonna House was burning,” she said, voice trembling. “No matter what lies were spread last night, I still care about Enzo and his family.”

Adeline heard Marisol whisper, “Unbelievable.”

Camilla continued.

“I only hope no one else gets hurt because of the dangerous people he has chosen to trust.”

Her eyes shifted toward Adeline.

There it was.

The accusation.

Soft.

Elegant.

Poison in a white coat.

Enzo took one step forward.

Marisol caught his arm.

“Don’t. She wants a reaction.”