Rain painted the streets silver as Shepherd Nexon moved fast through the lower city still in his bartender uniforms. His breath steamed in the air. The train ride had been slow, but his feet were fast now. Every time he blinked, Zoya's face appeared in his mind. Pale. Hooked to wires. Struggling to breathe.
His sneakers slapped wet pavement. His black hair wet from the rain.He reached the hill that led to the Sinclair estate. The gates were already in sight.
Big cars filled the driveway. A glowing carpet stretched up the front steps. People in long gowns and expensive suits walked past each other, holding champagne glasses with fake smiles.
Shepherd stopped at the gate.His chest burned from running.
A guard stood in the small booth by the gate. Tall and bulky. Face almost stone like.
"I would like to speak to Arielle Sinclair" Shepherd said, his voice shaking more from emotion than cold.
The guard blinked. "Do you have an invitation?"
"No. It's personal. It's important. Please."
"She is not taking personal visits. Especially not tonight."
"She will want to hear this. I'm her—"
"I know who you are," the guard said, cutting him off. The bartender ."
Shepherd's jaw clenched.
"I don't care what you think," he said. "She is still married to me. I called her already. But she didn't answer, just let her know I'm here."
The second guard stepped forward. He was younger. Smirking.
"Maybe she blocked your number," the young one said.
They both laughed.
Shepherd did not move.
"Let me through."
"No," the first guard said. "Go back to wherever you came from."
The first guard pushed him back with a single hand.
"I said go."
Then it happened.
His phone buzzed again.
He pulled it out and looked at the screen.
A message from the hospital.
Saint Alden General: Critical Alert
Patient Zoya Nexon — Oxygen levels dropping. Immediate attention required.
Shepherd froze.
The screen blurred from water. He wasn't sure if it was the rain or his tears.
"Please," he said again. "She's dying. My sister is dying."
The older guard shook his head. "You're embarrassing yourself."
The younger one chuckled. "Why don't you try the back gate? Maybe they let losers in that way."
Behind the trees there was a fresh laugh. More visitors came in.
Shepherd churned in his stomach. His heart beating abnormally fast. His whole blood seemed to have settled in his feet.As desperate sobs rippled through him.
Then he looked up and saw it.
A white catering van driving up the side road. Two men dressed in chef jackets emerged. One banged the back door shut. The other took up a tray of dishes covered with silver.
The van was a few steps away where Shepherd was standing.
A thought was born. Fast and Clear.
He walked away into the darkness, round a row of hedges. His wet shoes, squishing with each step. He went down on his knees and crawled until he was at the rear of the van.
The cooks had already started walking in the direction of the kitchen. One of them lost something and stooped to pick it up.
That was his moment,Shepherd moved swiftly.
He opened the rear doors of the van, crawled into the van, and closed the doors behind him.
It was warm. Like cooked meat and soup. The walls were lined with trays and crates.
He crouched between two boxes, with a pounding heart.
Here it was. His last hope.
He would get in.
Not for Arielle.
Not to get even.
For Zoya.
The tray at his side rattled as the side door was jerked open. Then silence and distant footsteps .
He counted to ten.
Then opened the back door and slipped out.
He landed behind a row of bushes next to the servants entrance. The night was louder here. Music from the ballroom shook the ground. He could hear laughter as a string quartet played a song he remembered from a gala long ago.
Shepherd crouched and ran for the side of the house.
He found a small door half open.
Inside, the kitchen was pure chaos.
People rushed past each other carrying trays of food and buckets of ice. Someone cursed about the desert being late. Another chef was yelling about overcooked lamb vhops. Steam curled around the lights like mist.
Shepherd ducked into a supply closet.
It smelled like bleach and onions.
He changed fast, pulling on a spare uniform grateful to be taking off his thoroughly soaked hoodie. A white coat and black loose pants. Hair tucked into a hairnet. He looked into the small mirror hanging by a mop bucket.
He did not look like Shepherd Nexon anymore.
He looked like a regular staff.
And staff could go anywhere.
He stepped out and picked up a tray of empty freshly washed glasses. No one batted an eye. He moved through the kitchen and into a long hallway.
The mansion looked just like he remembered.
Tall ceilings. Marble floors and paintings that cost more than Zoyas all time treatment which was also quite a lot.
He walked past the wine room, past the indoor garden, until he reached the ballroom doors.
Then he stopped .
Everything in him told him to breathe.
But the music was louder now. The lights brighter.
And then he heard it.
A voice he knew.
Louder than the rest.
"To love, to honor, and to forever grow stronger — may this night be the beginning of something beautiful."
Glasses clinked.
Cheers followed.