A week after my grandmother left her sprawling estate to me, my cousin Julian cornered me on the west balcony.

Julian spun around, dropping his aim for a fraction of a second to look at the sealed doors. He rushed over, yanking on the brass handles, but they wouldn't budge. They were vault-grade steel, disguised as mahogany.

"What is this? Open the door!" he yelled, panic seeping back into his voice. He aimed the gun at me again. "Open it, or I swear to God, Elena—"

"The panic room protocol," I interrupted calmly. "Grandma installed it after the first audit. The entire library is a secure bunker. The doors can't be opened from the inside once triggered, and they are entirely bulletproof. There's no Wi-Fi, no cellular signal. Just us."

"Then you die in here with me!" he screamed, stepping closer.

"No, Julian," I said, reaching into the side pouch of my chair and pulling out a heavy, black tactical taser. "I've spent the last two months doing upper body strength training while you were crying in your penthouse."

Julian raised the gun, his finger tightening on the trigger.

BANG.

The gunshot deafened the room. The bullet grazed my shoulder, tearing through the silk of my blouse and shattering a crystal vase behind me. The pain was searing, sharp and hot, but adrenaline drowned it out.

Before he could correct his aim and fire again, I leveled the taser and fired. The twin prongs struck him dead in the center of his chest.

10,000 volts ripped through Julian's body. He convulsed, the gun flying from his hand, and collapsed onto the Persian rug like a puppet with its strings cut. He groaned, twitching, unable to move.