And she’s right.
I can’t keep it chained forever—but I can try.
For now.
23
Colter’s handis hot against the small of my back, steady and immovable. It’s not a guiding touch. It’s a claim. Like he’s branded me here in front of everyone, and I can feel every set of eyes burn hotter because of it.
I hate that it works. That tiny circle of heat anchors me when my instincts scream to run. My pulse won’t slow, not with Oliver Maine standing so close. Not with Colter coiled like a predator at my side. I can practicallyfeelthe danger vibrating off him, even while his voice drips that lazy amusement, the kind meant to cut arteries while everyone else thinks it’s a joke.
The room tilts with too much light, too many bodies pressing in. I’ve lived my entire life learning to make myself smaller in crowds like this. Smiling just enough, nodding at the right moments, never drawing attention I couldn’t afford. But at Colter’s side, that’s impossible. People notice us. They notice him and the way he touches me.
When Oliver’s gaze dips one more time down the line of my dress, I know Colter see’s it too. His body tightens, subtle but sharp, like a blade being drawn. My breath catches. God, I almost pity Oliver. Almost.
I lean closer, my lips barely brushing Colter’s shoulder as I whisper, “Don’t.”
It’s the only word I can manage.
His thumb moved in a single, slow stroke against my spine, and I don’t know it’s a promise or a warning. Standing here, trapped between him and a room full of vultures, I realize something I can’t un-know:
The leash he is holding isn’t on himself.
It’s on me.
“There you are,” a syrupy voice cuts through the tension, shattering the fragile, dangerous bubble we’ve been standing in. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
Melanie.
His girlfriend. Or at least the girl that gives him blowjobs.
The words cut through me like broken glass. Anger bubble hot and violent in my chest, threatening to spill over like lava. How dare he put his hands on me and stake some kind of silent claim when he already belongs to someone else. His touch had distracted me from the one fact I shouldn’t have forgotten. He’s off-limits. Untouchable.
Her sudden appearance is the shock of ice water I need, snapping my head back into place. While Colter’s attention flicks toward her, I slip out of his grip like smoke. The loss of his heat is immediate, but I ignore it, edging closer to his father’s side. Hudson Shaw’s smirk says he noticed everything but has been choosing not to comment. His arm drapes gently across my shoulders, shielding me with ease of a man who knows exactly what game his son is playing.
“Melanie,” Colter greets, flat as stone. No warmth. No apology. Only her name, stripped down to the bone.
“Sorry I’m so late.” She laughs breathlessly, as though tardiness were a charming flaw. “My driver up and quityesterday without notice and I had to wait for Mother’s driver to be free. Honestly, you can’t find hardworking people anymore.”
A snort presses against the back of my throat, sharp and bitter, but I swallow it. Barely. If I had to work for her, I’d quit too. Beside me, Hudson’s shoulders tremble with quiet laughter.
“Well.” He clears his throat, polite but amused. “Since Colter is now otherwise occupied, why don’t I introduce you to a few people, Peyton?”
“Oh…” I hesitate, caught tween the trap of politeness and the burn of Colter’s stare.
“She won’t be comfortable with that,” Colter cuts in, his voice low and venomous, mean only for his father but loud enough to coil through me too. “You don’t need to?—”
“I’d love to,” I interrupt, my tone sharper than I intend, but it’s too late to take back. How dare he try to speak for me. How dare he pretend toknowme.
For one breathless second, I meet Colter’s eyes across the space between us. His jaw flexes. His hand curls at his side like he’s imagining dragging me back to him by force. The silent warning in his gaze is unmistakable:You’re mine, whether you like it or not.
But I’m already turning toward Hudson, forcing a bright smile, ignoring the way my knees want to buckle under the weight of that look.
If Colter thinks I’m going to be leashed, he’s about to find out how hard I pull when someone yanks too tight.
Hudson places my hand in the crook of his arm and leads me through the throng of guests. Several of them stop to speak to him, and he introduces me. The women are studying me. Their sharp gazes dressing me down. They know who I am. Everyone here does and they are sizing me up. Seeing if I belong.
I don’t.
