But before their eyes could fully register what had happened—before shock could settle into certainty—they realized something was wrong.
It wasn't Elena Hawkins who had been stabbed.
It was Enzo.
A sharp intake of breath rippled across the room as the truth unfolded. Enzo had moved—too fast, too precise—and intercepted the blade mid-strike. The knife that was meant for Elena now sat buried deep in his palm, blood spilling freely, dripping down his wrist in dangerous, steady streams.
For a moment, no one spoke.
The tension didn't just linger—it deepened, plunging the entire room into something darker, heavier.
Xavier saw it.
He saw Enzo's bleeding hand.
He saw Elena—untouched.
And something inside him snapped again.
His teeth gnashed together violently, his chest rising and falling with a barely contained storm as his gaze locked onto Elena like a predator marking its prey.
Then he lunged.
Fast. Ruthless.
But Enzo was faster.
