Gideon picked it up carefully. Not because it was delicate. Because he was already recalculating.
For your creations and relaxation.
—Your Secret Admirer
A muscle in his jaw ticked. He ran his thumb along the edge of the note, twice.
When he set it down, his whole face had changed.
Gone was the polished restraint.
What replaced it was quieter.
Deadlier.
“This isn’t casual.”
“No.” Her voice dropped to match his.
“You don’t know who?”
“If I did,” she murmured, “we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
He leaned in. One hand braced on the bar. The other hovering near the note.
His presence wasn’t suffocating.
It was protective.
But barely leashed.
“I need you to tell me if anything else happens.” Not a request.
“I can handle?—”
“Don’t.” His eyes cut to hers. “Don’t give me the practiced line. Not tonight.”
Her breath caught.
He wasn’t asking for control. He was offering protection. Gideon leaned in a breath more, his voice barely audible. “Not everyone’s attention is harmless, Arden.”
The lounge buzzed around them,laughter threading through candlelight. But none of it touched them.
This moment lived outside time.
His eyes never left hers.
And Arden, who had spent years refusing to be protected, felt the weight of knowing she wasn’t alone in this anymore.
He wasn’t angry because he was possessive.
He was angry because he cared.
And he wasn’t just warning her.
He was planning for war.
Gideon moved downthe private hallway like a weapon sheathed in quiet. The note burned in his pocket.
