Right now? Every instinct screamed at him. If he didn’t get Norah away from Hale—away from this building—he’d lose her to something far worse than heartbreak.
And Hale knew it. The older man smiled slightly, the expression barely a curve. “Now, Mr. Kincaid...let’s discuss how you’re going to leave this property.”
Marshall’s vision narrowed. His pulse slowed. And for the first time all evening, he let himself show his true self. He revealed the cold, lethal awareness of a man who’d just been given permission to break the rules.
“Let her go,” Marshall said.
Hale smiled. Almost pitying. “You don’t give orders here.”
Another set of footsteps echoed behind them—security was back. Marshall almost groaned at the sight of the two men he’d dispatched in the hallway. The two men raised their weapons.
Norah gasped. “Put those down, there is absolutely?—”
“Norah,” Hale murmured, voice soft as velvet. His mask was firmly back in place when speaking with Norah. “I know you want to see the best in people. It’s one of your loveliest qualities.” He stroked her upper back with his thumb—gentle, proprietary. Marshall nearly saw red. “But this man infiltrated a private event. Lied to you. Manipulated you. For reasons we cannot yet know. I understand you want to defend him, but you shouldn’t have to.”
She looked stricken, and shame burned through her expression.
And heartbreak. And anger. At him.
Marshall’s voice went low, steady, unshakable. “Norah. Look at me.”
She did.
And he wished she hadn’t.
Because her eyes were swimming with hurt so deep it hit him like a blade to the sternum.
“You lied to me,” she whispered. “At the wedding. At my apartment. Tonight.” Her throat bobbed. “All this time I thought you were trying to protect me...and you were just trying to use me. Again. An asset, right?”
He shook his head. “No. That’s not?—”
“You don’t get to deny it.” Her voice broke on the last word. “Not after everything.”
She edged closer to Hale, as if simply standing between them burned. As if Marshall himself was something she needed protection from.
The sound inside him wasn’t subtle. It wasn’t poetic. It was a break—sharp and unmistakable, like metal giving under too much force.
The guards moved in tandem, boots whispering over the carpet.
Guns rose.
Options unfurled in an instant, muscle memory whispering all the things he could do. He could disarm them both before Hale had time to blink. He could take Norah by the wrist and run. He could put Hale on the ground and end this entire threat in one decisive motion.
His body knew how. His training demanded it. His fury begged for it.
But Norah—sweet, brave, analytical Norah—was looking at him like he was the one who’d torn apart her world.
Not Hale or whoever had broken into her home. Not the Syndicate threading their way into her career.
Him.
And that—more than the drawn weapons, more than Hale’s poisonous little smirk—stopped him.
Marshall forced his hands up, slow and even. “You don’t want me here?” His voice was steady in the way cliffs look steady while waves are slowly tearing them apart. “Fine. I’m leaving.”
Hale’s approval was quiet but smug, a slight nod that saidI’ve won.
The guards stepped in. One pressed close enough that Marshall felt the heat of his breath when he muttered, “Move.”
