If Abigail Carter was going to survive the next 30 seconds, Marcus would have to do something that would destroy his own life.
5 seconds. 4 seconds. 3 seconds. Marcus made his choice. He ran. He pushed through the crowd of fancy people in their expensive clothes.
Women gasped. Men shouted. Security guards turned toward him, but Marcus was already moving too fast.
“Stop him,” someone yelled. But Marcus didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. The two dangerous men were almost at Abigail now.
Their hands were reaching into their pockets. Marcus could see what was about to happen even if nobody else could.
He had one chance. One terrible, desperate chance. Marcus reached Abigail just as the men were about to make their move.
And in one quick, violent motion, he grabbed the back of her beautiful blue dress and pulled as hard as he could.
Rip. The sound of tearing fabric filled the air. Crystals flew everywhere, sparkling like falling stars.
The dress split down the back, exposing Abigail’s skin. The beautiful gown that had taken 6 months to make was destroyed in 1 second.
Abigail screamed. The crowd gasped in horror. Camera flashes exploded like fireworks. Click, click, click, click, click.
Everyone was taking pictures and videos. “No!” Abigail shouted trying to hold the torn dress together.
She fell to her knees, her face full of shock and humiliation and rage. Security guards tackled Marcus immediately.
Three huge men slammed him to the ground so hard that Marcus felt his head bounce off the marble floor.
His mouth filled with blood. His arms were twisted behind his back. “I got him.”
One guard shouted. “Call the police.” Another yelled. “Someone get Ms. Carter a jacket.” The crowd was in chaos.
People were screaming. Phones were recording everything. This was going to be all over the news and social media in minutes.
But Marcus, lying on the floor with his face pressed against the cold marble, with security guards crushing him, with blood dripping from his mouth, saw something nobody else noticed.
The two dangerous men had stopped moving. They had frozen in place, their plan ruined.
The cameras and attention that were supposed to be pointing at Abigail’s dress were now pointing at Marcus.
The tight crowd that was supposed to help them had scattered in confusion. Whatever they had planned to do, they couldn’t do it now.
Marcus saw them look at each other. Then very calmly, very quietly, they turned and walked away, melting into the confused crowd like ghosts.
Nobody noticed them leaving. Nobody except Marcus. “Why did you do that?” Abigail was crying now, her perfect makeup running down her face.
