Flash. Flash. Flash.
The sky strobes white with paparazzi. Shouting reporters, cell phones raised, microphones shoved forward. The chaos swells, building until it’s deafening.
Father, father can fuck off.
Sera stiffens beside me, her breath faltering. Her father’s voice rolls over the noise like thunder.
“She is bound by blood and by heaven! You cannot erase God’s claim with lust and sin!”
How about a gallon of cum, you piece of shit.
That is very graphic. I am quite happy this is an inside thought.
I feel her flinch, and I am immediately pulled from my thoughts.
“Hey,” I murmur, tightening my grip around her hand. “Look at me, baby.”
Her eyes lift—steady, brave, shimmering beneath the flashing lights.
“You don’t owe him a damn thing,” I tell her, low enough for only her to hear. “You walk in there with your head high. I’ve got you.”
She nods once. Her spine straightens. Shoulders back. Chin high.
Then I push the door open.
I grip her hand so tight I’m afraid I’ll hurt her, but she doesn’t flinch.
Security pushes us forward, parting the crowd as the others close in—Logan, Sam, Chace, Mac.
My family. Her shield.
Inside, the studio doors slam shut, muting the chaos to a distant thunder.
Seraphina’s still holding her head high, but I see it—the flicker behind her eyes. The tremor she hides.
I snap.
The rage hits like gasoline to a match. My pulse slams in my ears.
That man—the one who dared to touch her, to preach purity while living in rot—stood out there and spat poisoned rhetoric like he had any right.
I want to go back out there.
I want to drag him off that crate and make him choke on his twisted holy fucking words.
I take a step toward the door—but Logan’s already there.
He plants a hand on my chest, eyes sharp.
“Don’t.”
“Get out of my way,” I growl, low enough that only he hears.
He shakes his head.
“Whatever you do to him will come back on her. You know it. The press will spin it.”
My fists clench. Every muscle in me trembles, begging for an outlet.
