Gabriel stopped right in front of Austen. His towering frame cast a heavy, suffocating shadow over the actor. Austen's knees buckled slightly, his legs trembling under the sheer weight of Gabriel's presence.
Gabriel didn't waste a single word. He pulled his right arm back and drove his fist forward.
The punch cut through the air with a vicious swoosh. His knuckles connected dead center with Austen's stomach.
A sickening, hollow thud echoed across the balcony. Austen let out a strangled, agonizing grunt. His eyes bulged out of his head, and his body folded in half like a snapped twig.
The sheer force of the blow lifted Austen off his feet for a fraction of a second before he stumbled backward. He collapsed onto the hard marble floor, clutching his stomach, his mouth wide open as he violently dry-heaved.
Evelyn screamed, scrambling backward until her back hit the glass doors. She curled into a tight ball, terrified that Gabriel was going to hit her next.
Gabriel's face remained entirely blank. He didn't even look at Austen writhing on the ground. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a fresh silk handkerchief, and meticulously wiped his knuckles. He rubbed the fabric over his skin as if he had just touched a disease.
When he was done, he dropped the expensive silk directly onto Austen's sweating face. The disrespect was absolute.
Alaia stared down at Austen. Seeing him broken on the floor offered a tiny fraction of relief to the burning hatred in her chest, but it wasn't nearly enough.
She walked over and stood over him. She looked down, her voice terrifyingly calm and steady.
"That was just the interest," Alaia said softly.
She pointed a finger at Austen, then shifted it to Evelyn. "I swear to God, I will strip you both of everything. Your reputations, your money, your careers. You will have nothing left, and you will never recover."
Austen groaned, unable to speak. He glared up at her, his eyes filled with toxic venom. Evelyn just kept shivering in the corner.
Alaia had said what she needed to say. She turned her back on them.
A sudden gust of autumn wind swept across the balcony. The thin silk of her red dress offered no protection against the chill. Alaia's shoulders involuntarily shivered.
Suddenly, a heavy weight dropped onto her shoulders. The rich, masculine scent of cedarwood and expensive cologne wrapped around her senses.
Alaia gasped and turned her head. Gabriel had picked up his suit jacket and draped it over her.
The fabric still held the heat of his body. The oversized jacket swallowed her frame, wrapping her in an aggressively dominant, yet completely secure, cocoon.
Gabriel didn't look at her. He casually adjusted his pristine cuffs.
"There are cameras out there," Gabriel said, his voice flat and commanding. "Don't walk out looking like a discarded victim."
Alaia froze for a second. Then, a genuine, sharp smile touched her lips. She reached up and pulled the lapels of the heavy jacket tighter around her chest.
She didn't say thank you. She just gave him a single, respectful nod. She turned and walked toward the glass doors, her heels clicking with absolute authority.
She pushed the doors open. The banquet hall was still packed. Hundreds of eyes snapped toward her. But this time, there were no smirks. No pity.
When they saw who was walking mere inches behind her, the chaotic whispers instantly morphed into collective gasps of pure shock. It wasn't just that the heavy, oversized suit jacket draped over her shoulders was clearly a man's-it was that Gabriel Alvarado himself was acting as her silent, invincible shield. His terrifying, predatory aura cleared the path before them, and no one needed to guess whose bespoke jacket she was wearing. The ownership was undeniable. Alaia walked through the crowd like a queen inspecting her territory. She ignored the stares, keeping her chin high as she marched straight toward the hotel exit.
Gabriel walked a few paces behind her. He moved with a slow, predatory grace, acting as her silent, invincible shield. The crowd instinctively parted, terrified of getting too close to him.
Alaia pushed through the hotel's front doors. The crisp Los Angeles night air hit her face.
The driveway was a war zone. Dozens of paparazzi had swarmed the entrance, blocking the stairs.
Blinding white flashes erupted like strobe lights. Microphones were shoved aggressively toward her face. Reporters screamed questions about the video, their voices overlapping in a chaotic roar.
Alaia didn't flinch. She stopped at the top of the stairs and swept her cold gaze over the mob. The sheer intensity in her eyes made the front row of reporters fall silent for a split second.
Before they could surge forward again, the screech of heavy tires ripped through the night. Four massive, black Cadillac Escalades slammed on their brakes, blocking the driveway.
A dozen men in black suits with earpieces poured out of the SUVs. They moved with military precision, shoving the paparazzi back, physically ripping a clear path through the mob.
Mitch Donovan, Gabriel's personal driver, stepped out of the center Maybach and respectfully pulled open the rear door.
Gabriel walked past Alaia, stopping right beside the open car door. He turned his head, his blue eyes locking onto hers.
"Get in," he ordered. Two words. Absolute authority.
Under the blinding flashes of a hundred cameras, Alaia ducked her head and slid into the backseat of the Maybach, stepping right into the center of Gabriel's world.
