Cullen stepped between Avery and the two men. He was a wall of expensive fabric and muscle.
The door opened again. Cheslie Griffin ran in. She was breathless, her hair perfectly messy. Avery saw her pause for a fraction of a second at the doorway, her eyes scanning the room as if checking for cameras, before composing her face into a mask of angelic concern.
"Ernest, stop! Don't hurt her!" Cheslie cried. She ran to Ernest and grabbed his arm. "Please, let's just go home."
Avery rolled her eyes. "Right on cue."
Cheslie looked at Avery with teary, wide eyes. "Avery, please. Just come home. We can get you help. We can find a good facility."
"I don't need help, Cheslie," Avery said dryly. "And I certainly don't need a facility. I need you to stop acting. The cameras aren't rolling."
"How can you be so cruel?" Ernest yelled, pulling Cheslie against his side protectively. "She's trying to save you!"
Hamlin, drunk on adrenaline and stupidity, couldn't stand being ignored by Cullen.
"She's just a whore who sleeps her way to the top!" Hamlin screamed. "Everyone knows it!"
He lunged. He tried to grab the strap of Avery's dress, intending to rip it, to humiliate her one last time.
Avery braced herself.
But she didn't need to.
Cullen moved faster than humanly possible. His hand shot out like a cobra strike. He intercepted Hamlin's reaching hand.
He twisted.
Crack.
A sickening, wet crunch echoed in the quiet room.
Hamlin screamed. It was a high-pitched, animal sound. He dropped to his knees, clutching his hand. His finger was bent at an impossible angle.
Cullen didn't stop. He kicked Hamlin in the chest-a sharp, brutal kick with the heel of his dress shoe. Hamlin slid across the polished floor, crashing into a table of drinks.
The room gasped. Cheslie screamed, her hands flying to her mouth in horror.
Cullen walked over to where Hamlin lay wheezing. He crouched down. He grabbed Hamlin by the throat, cutting off his air.
"I saw the tape, Hamlin," Cullen whispered. His voice was loud enough for Ernest to hear. "You touched her first. Consider this a warning."
He leaned closer, his eyes black voids. "Touch her again, and I won't leave enough of you to sue."
He released Hamlin. Hamlin collapsed, sobbing into the floorboards.
Cullen stood up. He adjusted his suit cuffs. He checked his tie. He was perfectly calm.
He turned to Ernest.
"Get your garbage out of here, Hall."
Ernest was pale. He looked from Hamlin's broken finger to Cullen's face. He realized, with a jolt of terror, that Cullen was protecting Avery.
Cheslie stared at Cullen. Shock and jealousy warred in her eyes. Cullen had never lost control for her. He had never broken bones for her.
Avery watched Cullen's back. Her heart was racing against her ribs. This wasn't in the script. The villain wasn't supposed to save the villainess.
Arnoldo watched with fascination. "Dramatic," he murmured, taking a sip of his drink.
Ernest signaled to his security team. They picked Hamlin up off the floor.
"We're leaving," Ernest hissed to Cheslie. He couldn't look Cullen in the eye.
As the family retreated, dragging their wounded pride with them, Cullen turned to face Avery.
The air between them crackled. It was heavy with violence and something else. Something dangerous.
