At 3:07 in the morning, a man from the United States Embassy in Switzerland called to tell me there had been an avalanche—

One year later.

The grand ballroom of the Plaza Hotel in Manhattan was packed to capacity with five hundred literary critics, publishers, celebrities, and fans.

Huge banners hung from the crystal chandeliers, featuring the cover of my newest psychological thriller:

THE BLACK CARD By Claire Bennett

The novel—a fast-paced, terrifying story about a cheating husband whose elaborate fraud unravels during an avalanche in the Swiss Alps—had smashed every publishing record in the country. It had been on the New York Times Bestseller list for twenty-six consecutive weeks, and the movie rights had just sold for eight million dollars.

I stood on the main stage in a stunning emerald-green silk gown, holding the prestigious National Book Critics Award in my hands.

The crowd cheered, wild applause echoing off the gilded walls.

"Thank you," I said into the microphone, my warm smile filling the massive screens on either side of the stage. "People often ask me where I get the inspiration for my darkest stories."

The audience let out a quiet, knowing laugh.

"And the truth is," I continued, looking out over the room of people who truly valued my art, "inspiration comes when you realize that the worst monsters aren't hiding in the dark. They're sitting at your dinner table, wearing your rings, and using your credit cards."

The crowd erupted into loud cheers and applause.

After the ceremony, I walked out onto the private balcony overlooking Central Park. The crisp autumn air hit my face, carrying the sweet scent of roasting chestnuts and falling leaves.

Arthur walked out onto the balcony behind me, holding two glasses of champagne. He handed one to me.

"Congratulations, Claire," Arthur smiled. "Page six is calling it the literary event of the decade."

"Thank you, Arthur," I said, sipping the crisp wine. "Any news on our friends?"

Arthur chuckled softly. "Evan accepted a plea deal last week. Two years at a minimum-security facility in upstate New York, followed by three years of probation and mandatory wage garnishment. Madison is working two jobs in Jersey City to pay off her civil judgment to your legal trust."

I looked out over the glowing skyline of New York City—the city where I had built my empire, protected my dignity, and reclaimed my life.

I didn't feel anger. I didn't feel hatred.

I raised my glass against the dark, shimmering night, watching the lights reflect off the East River.

"To fresh starts," I whispered softly.