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.

The cool Manhattan wind whipped Darla's hair across her face as she stood on the sidewalk. The streetlights cast long, harsh shadows on the pavement.

Darla gently pulled her hand out of Anson's grip. She took a step back, putting a polite distance between them.

She unclasped her silver clutch and pulled out the rest of the cash she had on her. It was about three hundred dollars.

She held the money out to him. "Thank you. For everything. Your acting was incredible, and... thank you for stopping Rudy."

Anson looked down at the crumpled bills in her hand. He stayed quiet for two agonizing seconds before he reached out and took the money.

"I'm sorry it's not much," Darla said, wrapping her arms around herself to ward off the chill. "When I get my next paycheck, I can send you the rest of what I owe you."

A low, rich chuckle vibrated in Anson's chest. "This covers my rate."

Darla smiled faintly. He was broke, but he had pride. She liked that about him.

"What's your full name?" Darla asked. "If any of my friends ever need security, I'll recommend you."

Anson reached into the inner pocket of his jacket. He pulled out a matte black card and handed it to her.

Darla took it. The card was heavy, expensive cardstock. There was no company logo. No address. Just a single word stamped in silver foil: ANSON. Beneath it was a phone number.

"No last name?" Darla asked, her brow furrowing.

"I take private contracts," Anson lied smoothly, his face a mask of calm. "I keep a low profile."

Darla nodded, slipping the heavy card into her clutch. It made sense. A guy with his skills probably worked off the books.

A yellow cab pulled up to the curb. Darla opened the door and slid onto the cracked vinyl seat.

Anson stood on the sidewalk, his hands in his pockets. His dark eyes locked onto hers through the open window.

"Get home safe," he murmured.

Darla nodded and rolled up the window. The cab merged into the busy traffic. She leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes, letting the exhaustion pull her under.

Anson watched the taillights of the cab until they disappeared around the corner.

The moment she was out of sight, the mild, accommodating expression vanished from his face. His jaw clenched. His eyes turned back to black ice.

He turned and walked down a narrow, unlit alleyway beside the hotel, putting several dark, quiet blocks between himself and the venue before stopping on a deserted corner. A custom, pitch-black Maybach glided silently out of the shadows and stopped right in front of him.

Isaac Kerr, his executive assistant, jumped out of the driver's seat and pulled open the rear door.

Anson slid into the luxurious leather interior. He tossed the crumpled hundreds onto the polished walnut bar without a second glance.

Isaac looked at the cash through the rearview mirror. He swallowed hard. "Boss... did you really let her pay you? Eight hundred dollars?"

Anson reached up and yanked his tie loose. He shot Isaac a glare so lethal it made the assistant shrink in his seat.

Isaac quickly cleared his throat and handed a thick manila folder over the center console. "The background check on the Hammond and Mosley families, sir."

Anson opened the folder. His eyes scanned the pages, stopping on the police report regarding Darla's adoptive father, David Hammond.

"Put a team on the Mosleys," Anson ordered, his voice cold and sharp. "If they get within ten feet of Darla, break their legs."

Isaac's eyes widened. Anson Prince, the ruthless CEO of MUA Group, never got personally involved with anyone.

Anson looked out the tinted window at the passing city lights. He could still feel the phantom warmth of Darla's small hand in his.

"Drive," Anson commanded.

The Maybach accelerated smoothly, heading toward the most expensive penthouse overlooking Central Park.