The air vanished from the room.

The bathroom suddenly felt too small—too bright, too clean for something that was starting to feel wrong.

White marble reflected light in harsh fragments, cutting across Naomi’s vision in uneven flashes.

Somewhere downstairs, music still pulsed under crystal chandeliers.

People were still laughing.

Still dancing.

Still posting their lives like nothing had shifted.

A man was missing.

And the world didn’t care yet.

It never did at first.

“That’s impossible,” Naomi whispered.

Because if it wasn’t—

then what the fuck had she done?

Marcus Hale’s voice sharpened through the phone.

“Do not leave the hotel. Do not speak to anyone. My team is handling this before it becomes a disaster.”

Not before we know what happened.

Not are you okay.

Just:

Damage control.

Always damage control.

The call ended.

Silence rushed in immediately after.

Naomi stared at the screen like it might explain itself.

Her fingers began to tingle again.

Pins and needles crawling under her skin.

Then spreading.

Slowly.

Up her hand.

Her breath caught.

“Not now,” she muttered.

The lights stretched for half a second.

White lines pulling outward—

then snapping back into place.

Wrong.

Her body felt delayed, like signals weren’t reaching where they should.

A quiet, rising fear settled into her chest.

Not career fear.

Not scandal fear.

Something worse.

Body fear.

Something inside her was not staying connected the way it should.

“Naomi,” Zara said carefully.

“You’re scaring me.”

A violent knock slammed into the bathroom door.

Both of them flinched.

“Hotel security,” a man’s voice called. “Open the door.”

Naomi froze.

Zara’s expression tightened.

“Don’t,” she whispered.

Naomi didn’t move.

Her phone buzzed again.

Unknown sender.

One attachment.

No message.

Her thumb hesitated.

Then she opened it.

A grainy security video filled the screen.

Timestamp: 2:13 A.M.

A hotel hallway.

Naomi walking forward.

Damien stumbling behind her.

Zara leaned in instantly.

“What is that—”

Then Naomi appeared on screen again.

Turning slightly toward the camera.

And smiling.

Her hands were dark.

Covered in blood.

Zara went still.

“Oh my God.”

Naomi couldn’t breathe.

The footage didn’t match what she felt inside her head.

Because the woman on the screen looked… calm.

Controlled.

Almost familiar.

Too familiar.

And that was the part that made her stomach drop harder than the blood ever had.

The knock came again.

“Security,” the voice repeated. “Open the door now.”

Naomi didn’t answer.

She kept staring at herself on the screen.

Trying to find the moment where it stopped making sense.

But the video didn’t blink.

And neither did she.