I felt their approach before I heard them. The air shifted, carrying the scent of expensive cologne and cheap perfume—a combination that instantly transported me back to Washington D.C., to the life I'd left behind.

"Violet! Violet Howard!" Phillip's voice boomed across the marble floor, loud enough to draw the attention of nearby guests. His politician's smile flashed bright and false as he approached, arm still wrapped possessively around Brittany's waist. "I can't believe it's you!"

I turned slowly, my expression carefully neutral. The Luna's necklace felt heavy against my skin, grounding me in who I was now—not who they thought I still was.

"Phillip," I acknowledged, my voice cool and measured. "It's been a while."

"Seven years!" He laughed, the sound hollow and performative. "Seven years since you disappeared from D.C. without so much as a goodbye."

Brittany's eyes narrowed as she scanned my dress, her lips curving into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "That's... an interesting choice of attire," she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "So brave to wear vintage to an event like this."

I knew exactly what she was implying. My midnight blue silk gown—crafted by one of Paris's most exclusive designers—looked deceptively simple. To someone like Brittany, who measured worth by brand labels rather than quality, it probably did look like something from a consignment shop.

"Life must be so different for you now," Phillip continued, his tone shifting to one of practiced sympathy. "Paris wasn't kind to you, was it? I always knew you'd come back to America eventually."

I opened my mouth to respond, but he wasn't finished.

"I mean, let's be honest—you were never really cut out for the international business world. Too small-time."

Brittany giggled, pressing closer to him. "Remember how she used to think she could compete with the big players? So naive."

I took a small sip of my water, letting their words wash over me without penetration. "If you'll excuse me," I said quietly, attempting to step around them.

Phillip moved directly into my path, his smile tightening at my dismissal. "Actually, I was thinking—maybe you need a job."

He reached into his jacket pocket and produced a business card, holding it out between us like a peace offering. "My office needs a filing clerk. Junior position, of course. But it's steady work, and I'm willing to overlook your... history."

I stared at the card. White stock, embossed letters. SENATOR'S OFFICE - PHILLIP MEYER, CHIEF AIDE.

"You see," he continued, his voice taking on that patronizing tone I remembered so well, "I've done well for myself. And I'm not one to hold grudges. You left D.C. rather abruptly—abandoned our relationship without explanation. But I understand you were... struggling."

Brittany nodded vigorously beside him. "Phillip's been so successful. We've both been so successful." She flashed her diamond bracelet—new money, desperate to prove itself.

"This job," Phillip pressed, "it's an olive branch. A chance to get back on your feet. I know things haven't been easy for you."

I looked at the card again, then into his eyes—those calculating eyes that had once seemed so charming to me. Now I could see the emptiness behind them, the hollow ambition that had led him to betray everything we'd once shared.

"No, thank you," I said simply.

I took the card from his hand and dropped it into a passing waiter's trash tray. The action was smooth, deliberate—a casual dismissal that sent shockwaves through both of them.

Phillip's smile faltered. "You're... declining?"

"I have no need for employment," I replied, my voice level.

Brittany's face contorted with rage. "You ungrateful bitch," she hissed, abandoning all pretense of politeness. "Do you have any idea who we are now? Who Phillip has become?"

I met her gaze steadily. "I know exactly who you both are."

Phillip's hand tightened around Brittany's waist, his knuckles white with sudden anger. "You always did have a problem with authority," he said, his voice dropping dangerously low. "Still so arrogant for someone with no connections, no money, no—"

"Phillip."

The single word cut through his tirade like a blade. He froze, his eyes widening slightly as he realized how loud he'd become—how many of New York's elite were now watching our exchange with undisguised interest.

I stepped around him, my head held high. "Enjoy your evening," I said softly. "I'm sure it will be memorable."

As I walked away, I could feel their stares burning into my back—Phillip's shocked disbelief and Brittany's seething hatred. They still had no idea who I'd become.

But they were about to find out.

I could feel the eyes of the room shifting toward us, drawn by the rising volume of Brittany's voice. Her face had twisted into something ugly, her perfectly applied makeup unable to hide the venom beneath.

"She's stalking you, Phillip!" Brittany announced, loud enough for nearby guests to hear. Her voice carried across the marble floor, crystalline with malice. "Look at her—showing up here after seven years, still obsessed with you."

I took a small step backward, my fingers instinctively finding the cool metal of my wedding band. The Luna's necklace seemed to pulse against my skin, a reminder of who I was now—who I had become.

"Victoria Chen is watching," Margaret Ashford murmured as she passed by me, her voice low with warning.

I glanced toward the bar and spotted her—Victoria Chen, the notoriously sharp business journalist whose column could make or break reputations in New York. She was observing our exchange with undisguised interest, her phone partially concealed in her hand.

"I'm not stalking anyone," I said quietly, turning to walk away.

Brittany wasn't finished. She stepped directly into my path, her designer heels clicking aggressively against the floor.

"You can't just show up here and pretend you belong," she hissed. "Everyone knows what you did to Phillip—how you abandoned him when he was just starting his career."

A small crowd had gathered now, drawn by the promise of drama. I could see whispers spreading through the gathering, heads turning our way.

"Phillip has been so successful without you," Brittany continued, her voice rising with each word. "We've both been so successful. And you—you're still the same nobody you always were."

I kept my expression neutral, though inside I was calculating how quickly Leonardo would arrive. The mate bond between us hummed with his approach—he was close, but not yet here.

"You need to leave," I said simply, attempting once more to step around them.

That's when Phillip's hand shot out, gripping my wrist with bruising force. His politician's smile had vanished completely now, replaced by something dark and ugly.

"You don't get to walk away from me," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "Not again."

The pain in my wrist was sharp, immediate. I looked down at his fingers digging into my skin, then back up at his face—the face I had once loved, now twisted with rage and entitlement.

"Let go of me," I said evenly.

"You think you're still special?" he hissed, leaning closer. "You think you can just show up here and act high and mighty? You owe me, Violet. You owe me for the years I wasted on you."

His breath was hot against my face, carrying the scent of expensive whiskey and cheaper cologne. Behind him, Brittany watched with gleeful satisfaction.

"We need to talk," Phillip continued, his grip tightening. "Come to my hotel later. We'll discuss repayment for all the emotional distress you caused me when you disappeared."

The crowd around us had grown silent, watching the scene unfold with morbid fascination. Victoria Chen's phone was raised now, no longer even pretending to be concealed.

"Repayment?" I repeated, my voice dangerously soft.

"For abandoning me," he clarified, his eyes glittering with malice. "For making me look like a fool in front of everyone in D.C."

Before I could respond, a massive shadow fell between us. A hand the size of a dinner plate clamped onto Phillip's wrist, forcing him to release me instantly.

"Are you injured, Mrs. Snyder?"

The voice was deep, controlled, and utterly deferential. Walker stood before me, his broad shoulders blocking Phillip from my view. He didn't look at Phillip at all—his eyes remained fixed on me, waiting for my response.

"Mrs. Snyder?" Phillip repeated, confusion momentarily replacing his anger.

The crowd murmured, the name rippling through the gathered onlookers like a stone dropped in still water.

"Who the hell are you?" Phillip demanded, trying to wrench his arm free from Walker's grip.

Walker ignored him completely, his focus entirely on me. "Should I call Mr. Snyder?" he asked quietly.

Phillip's face contorted with rage and frustration. "What is this? Some kind of act?" He looked wildly around at the watching crowd. "Is this your new game, Violet? Hiring muscle to make yourself look important?"

Brittany stepped forward, her confidence visibly wavering but her voice still sharp. "This is ridiculous. He's obviously just some actor she paid—"

"Be very careful with your next words," Walker interrupted, finally turning to face her. His voice remained calm, but there was something in his tone that made both Phillip and Brittany fall silent.

The room held its collective breath, waiting for what would happen next.

Phillip's laugh cut through the tense silence, sharp and dismissive. He threw his head back, eyes gleaming with malicious amusement as he addressed the growing crowd.

"This is ridiculous," he announced, his politician's voice carrying effortlessly across the marble floor. "Everyone, I apologize for this... disturbance." He gestured toward Walker as if he were some common nuisance. "My old friend Violet here seems to have hired herself some entertainment."

Brittany stepped forward, her designer heels clicking aggressively against the floor. Her lips curved into a smile that dripped with contempt.

"Is this your new strategy, Violet?" she asked, her voice sweet with venom. "Hiring actors to make yourself look important?" She looked Walker up and down, her expression dismissive. "Though I must say, you could have found someone more convincing. This one looks like he should be working security at a nightclub."

The crowd murmured, some faces showing confusion, others amusement at what they assumed was some elaborate performance.

"Mrs. Snyder?" Phillip repeated, emphasizing the title with mockery. "Please. Who exactly did you marry, Violet? Some janitor with the same last name?" He laughed again, the sound echoing off the high ceilings. "Did you think that would impress anyone?"

I remained perfectly still, my expression neutral despite the burning in my wrist where his fingers had dug into my skin. The Luna's necklace felt heavy against my throat, a reminder of who I truly was—who I had become.

"I'm waiting for an answer," Phillip continued, his voice hardening. "What game are you playing here?"

Brittany's eyes narrowed as she studied my face. "She's always been pathetic," she said to the crowd, her voice carrying. "Even back in D.C., she was nothing but a stepping stone. Phillip was smart enough to recognize that."

Walker's grip on Phillip's wrist tightened almost imperceptibly. I could see the tension in his massive frame, the restraint it took not to simply snap Phillip's arm like a twig.

"Remove your hand," Phillip hissed, suddenly aware of the pain. "Do you have any idea who I am?"

"Perfectly aware, Senator," Walker replied, his voice flat and emotionless.

Phillip's face flushed with rage. He yanked his arm free and straightened his jacket, addressing the crowd with practiced authority.

"I am Senator Meyer's chief aide," he announced, his voice taking on the formal cadence of a politician giving a speech. "And I demand this... thug be removed from the premises immediately."

He turned to the venue's security staff, who had gathered at the periphery of the crowd. "Call your superiors. Have this man arrested for assaulting a government official."

The security team exchanged uncertain glances. I could see recognition in their eyes—they knew who Walker was, even if Phillip didn't.

"I said now!" Phillip shouted, his composure cracking further. "Remove this woman and her thug from the premises!"

The temperature in the room seemed to drop suddenly. A hush fell over the crowd as all eyes turned toward the grand staircase at the far end of the hall.

The heavy double doors at the top of the stairs swung open silently, as if pushed by an invisible force. A figure appeared in the doorway—tall, imposing, radiating power with every inch of his being.

Leonardo.

He didn't shout. He didn't announce himself. He simply walked down the stairs, each step deliberate and measured. The crowd parted instinctively before him, people stepping back without conscious thought, their bodies responding to a primal instinct they couldn't name.

I felt the mate bond between us pulse with his approach—his anger, his protectiveness, his absolute certainty flowing through our connection like liquid fire.

Phillip's words died in his throat as Leonardo reached the bottom of the stairs. His eyes—dark as midnight with flecks of amber that seemed to glow in the dim light—locked onto Phillip with laser focus.

More specifically, they locked onto Phillip's hand, which was still raised from where he had grabbed my wrist.

"Phillip," I said softly, my voice barely audible in the silence. "I'd like you to meet my husband."

Leonardo's expression didn't change. He didn't smile, didn't frown—he simply existed in that moment, and his existence was enough to command the room.

The air around us seemed to vibrate with tension as he took the final steps toward us, his eyes never leaving Phillip's face.