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.