AT A GALA, I WAS DRUGGED WHILE PREGNANT — MY MAFIA BOSS HUSBAND TOOK REVENGE.

Elena raised the sparkling wine to her lips and took a single, small sip.

An odd, metallic tang coated the back of her tongue. She paused, pulling the glass back to inspect the pale liquid. The bubbles continued to rise gently.

"Maybe it's just the alcohol-free recipe," she mused. "Or another strange pregnancy craving."

She set the flute down on a nearby cocktail table.

Then, without warning, the floor pitched beneath her feet.

The grand ballroom tilted sharply. The dazzling light from the crystal chandeliers stretched into long, terrifying smears of white and gold. The polite murmur of conversation suddenly sounded as if it were underwater.

Elena’s hand shot out to grab the edge of the marble table, but her fingers slipped.

Her heel caught on the edge of her dress. The delicate crystal flute crashed onto the polished floor, shattering into a dozen glittering shards.

The sharp crack echoed across the room, instantly silencing the string quartet near the orchids. Someone let out a muffled scream.

Elena’s knees buckled. Her sight went entirely black around the edges.

She braced herself for the impact of the marble floor, but she never hit it.

Strong, familiar arms caught her before her body collapsed. Raphael had crossed forty feet of crowded ballroom in a fraction of a second.

"Elena!"

His voice hit her ears—low, harsh, and laced with a panic she had never heard from him before. He pulled her flush against his chest, his palm supporting the back of her neck.