The crystal chandeliers of the ballroom blinded Darla for a fraction of a second as she stepped back inside.
The room went dead silent. Hundreds of eyes shifted from the empty stage to the entrance.
Darla walked down the center aisle, her hand tightly gripping Anson's arm. He moved beside her with the slow, predatory grace of a large cat.
Up on the stage, Bennet was holding the microphone, his face red and sweating. He had just been trying to convince the crowd that Darla was having a mental breakdown.
Bennet's eyes landed on Anson. The words died in his throat. His face drained of color.
Darla stopped in the middle of the room. Agnes stomped toward her, her expensive heels clicking furiously.
"What is the meaning of this?" Agnes hissed, pointing a manicured finger at Anson. "Have you lost your mind, Darla?"
Darla lifted her chin. "I wanted to introduce everyone to the man I actually love. My new fiancé."
A collective gasp sucked the air out of the room. People leaned in, their eyes raking over Anson's imposing figure.
From the edge of the crowd, Caren pushed her way to the front, dragging her assistant, Lacey-May, by the wrist.
Lacey-May took one look at Anson and burst out laughing. She pointed right at his face. "Wait... he looks familiar. I think I saw him with the hotel security staff near the service entrance. He's just one of the guards!"
The tension in the room snapped. The elite guests began to murmur, their faces twisting into expressions of disgust and amusement.
Caren covered her mouth, feigning pity. "Oh, Darla. I know you're hurt, but hiring a broke security guard to make Bennet jealous? That's just pathetic."
Darla's fingernails dug into Anson's suit jacket. Her chest burned with humiliation, but she refused to look away.
"A broke security guard is a hundred times the man Bennet will ever be," Darla said, her voice slicing through the laughter. "At least he doesn't act like an animal in a dressing room."
Bennet snapped. He threw the microphone down and stormed off the stage. He marched straight up to Anson, his face twisted in ugly rage.
"Grandfather, get this trash out of my party!" Bennet spat, emboldened by his grandfather's presence, sneering from a safe distance.
Anson's eyes went dead. The temperature around him seemed to drop ten degrees.
He didn't yell. He didn't flinch. Anson simply closed the distance between them in one terrifyingly fast stride and clamped his hand around Bennet's pointing wrist.
It looked like a casual grip, but Bennet let out a sharp yelp. He stumbled backward the moment Anson released him, clutching his wrist as if he had just hit a steel beam.
Anson looked down at Bennet. A cold, terrifying sneer curled his lips.
"Watch how you speak to my fiancée," Anson said. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried a heavy, crushing weight that made the hair on Darla's arms stand up.
Bennet swallowed hard, taking another step back. The sheer dominance radiating from Anson paralyzed him.
Lacey-May opened her mouth to speak again, but Anson shot her a single, deadpan glare. She snapped her mouth shut, shrinking behind Caren.
Agnes wasn't intimidated. She lunged forward, reaching out to grab Darla's arm. "You're coming with me right now!"
Anson shifted his weight. He stepped smoothly in front of Darla, blocking Agnes completely. He stood there like an immovable mountain of ice.
"She doesn't want to talk to you," Anson stated, his tone flat and final.
Darla stared at Anson's broad back. Her heart pounded, but for the first time tonight, she felt completely safe.
At the edge of the crowd, the Branch patriarch, Cornelius, leaned heavily on his silver-tipped cane. His sharp, aged eyes narrowed as he studied Anson.
Cornelius had dealt with ruthless men his entire life. He recognized the posture. He recognized the absolute lack of fear. The man standing there was no security guard.
Cornelius slammed his cane against the marble floor. The sharp crack silenced the room.
"Bennet," Cornelius barked, his voice filled with disgust. "Step back. Now."
