Darla pushed through the crowd, ignoring the hands that tried to grab her arms. She slipped out of the ballroom and turned into a dimly lit side corridor.

Her chest heaved. Her fingers dug so hard into her silver clutch that her knuckles turned white. She needed to find an exit. She needed to get out before Agnes and the Mosley family cornered her.

She walked faster, her heels sinking into the carpet. She rounded the corner near the VIP elevators without looking.

She slammed face-first into a solid wall of muscle.

The impact knocked the breath out of her. She stumbled backward, her ankle twisting. Before she could hit the floor, a massive, warm hand clamped around her bicep, steadying her with effortless strength.

Darla gasped and looked up.

She met a pair of eyes so dark and cold they looked like black ice.

The man towering over her wore a perfectly tailored black suit. His jawline was sharp enough to cut glass. He radiated a dangerous, quiet authority.

Darla's eyes darted to his ear. He was wearing a discreet, custom earpiece. A faint, tinny voice buzzed from it.

Security. He had to be the hotel's head of security.

"Darla! Stop right there!"

Agnes's shrill voice echoed down the hallway, followed by the heavy footsteps of her stepbrother, Rudy. They were coming.

Panic seized Darla's throat. She couldn't face them. Not right now. Her brain scrambled for a way out. She looked back at the massive man holding her arm.

Darla reached into her clutch. Her fingers trembled as she pulled out a thick stack of cash-emergency money her father always insisted she carry.

She shoved the money directly against the man's broad chest.

"Take this," Darla said, her words rushing out in a breathless panic. "I need you to be my fiancé. Just for one hour. Please."

The man stared down at the crumpled bills against his suit. One dark eyebrow slowly arched.

In his earpiece, his assistant, Isaac, gasped. Boss, what is she doing? Should I call security?

Anson Prince didn't blink. He lifted his free hand and tapped the earpiece, cutting Isaac's feed dead.

He looked at the woman in front of him. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but her chin was tilted up in pure defiance. His grandfather had told him to keep an eye on Darla Hammond tonight. He hadn't expected her to throw cash at him.

The corner of Anson's mouth twitched. He took the money from her shaking hand, folded it slowly, and slid it into the inner pocket of his jacket.

"Fine," Anson said. His voice was a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated in Darla's chest.

Darla let out a shaky breath. "My name is Darla. You need to look like you're in love with me."

Anson stepped closer. The scent of cedar and expensive musk washed over her. He reached out, his long fingers brushing against her cheek as he tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

His skin was incredibly warm. Darla shivered, her stomach doing a strange flip.

The footsteps grew louder. Agnes rounded the corner, her face twisted in rage.

Anson smoothly bent his arm, offering it to her.

Darla swallowed the lump in her throat. She slipped her hand through his arm, pressing her side against his solid frame.

Together, they turned around and walked straight toward the furious Mosley family.

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."

The rhythmic thud of Cornelius's cane echoed in the sudden silence of the room. The old man walked slowly toward the center of the ballroom, his face carved from stone.

Bennet immediately straightened up, puffing out his chest now that his grandfather was stepping in.

Rudy Mosley, desperate to prove his loyalty to the Branch family, pushed past his mother. His face was purple with rage.

"You ungrateful whore!" Rudy screamed at Darla, spit flying from his lips. "You ruined this family!"

Rudy lunged. He raised his heavy hand, aiming a vicious slap right at Darla's face.

Darla squeezed her eyes shut and bit down hard on her lower lip, bracing for the impact.

The slap never came.

Instead, a sickening crack of bone and cartilage echoed through the air.

Darla opened her eyes. Anson's massive hand was wrapped around Rudy's wrist like a steel vise. The muscles in Anson's forearm bulged against the fabric of his suit. His eyes were completely black, devoid of any human warmth.

With a brutal, effortless twist, Anson forced Rudy's arm backward.

Rudy let out a high-pitched, agonizing scream. His knees buckled instantly, and he crashed to the floor, kneeling at Anson and Darla's feet, sobbing in pain.

Agnes shrieked. She threw her hands up, ready to claw at Anson's face.

Anson didn't move. He just slowly turned his head and looked at Agnes. The look in his eyes was so violently cold, so utterly empty of mercy, that Agnes froze mid-step. Her breath hitched, and she began to tremble.

Anson released Rudy's wrist, letting the man collapse onto the carpet.

Anson reached into his pocket, pulled out a pristine white handkerchief, and slowly wiped his fingers. He looked disgusted, as if he had just touched raw sewage.

Cornelius stopped three feet away. He stared at Anson, his ancient eyes calculating.

"Who are you?" Cornelius demanded, his voice low. "You are no guard."

Anson met the old man's gaze. A humorless smile touched the corner of his mouth.

"I am exactly what I said I am," Anson replied smoothly. "Darla's fiancé."

Cornelius's heart gave a strange, uneasy thump. He had built an empire, but the young man standing in front of him felt like a loaded gun pointed directly at his head. Cornelius knew when to cut his losses.

He turned his back on Anson. "Branch family. We are leaving. Now."

Bennet opened his mouth to protest, but one look from his grandfather shut him up. He turned and practically ran toward the exit.

The Branch family filed out. The remaining guests, sensing the danger in the air, quickly grabbed their coats and scattered. Within minutes, the grand ballroom was nearly empty.

Agnes stood over Rudy, glaring at Darla with pure hatred. "You will pay for this, Darla. You have nothing now."

Darla looked at the woman who had made her life a living hell. Her chest felt incredibly light.

"I have exactly what I want," Darla said quietly. "Nothing to do with you."

She turned to Anson. Her adrenaline was crashing, leaving her exhausted. "Let's go."

Anson didn't say a word. He reached out and wrapped his warm, large hand around her freezing fingers.

He led her through the empty ballroom, pushed open the heavy glass doors, and walked her out into the cool Manhattan night.