She’s seated at a corner table, half-turned toward the others, a faint, polite smile on her lips as she listens to the conversation—but her body is tense, her posture too still.
She looks stunning, even in the soft afternoon light.
As I near, I let my gaze sweep over her colleagues first—Greg Stanton, sharp suit, polished charm, head of European Strategy at Silverline Global Media. A man known for aggressive expansion and high-profile campaigns.
He’s seated next to Della—just a little too close. Something primal flickers beneath the surface.
I clock the tilt of his body toward her, the way his arm rests casually behind her chair, and make a quiet note of it. I don’t interrupt. Not yet. But the part of me that protects what’s mine is wide awake. Watching. Calculating.
Next to him, must be Adriana. Della’s colleague from back home.
I stop just beside their table, the weight of my presence impossible to ignore now.
I offer a polite nod to the table, though my attention barely strays from her.
“Good afternoon,” I say, my voice calm but with just enough edge to cut the conversation short.
Greg stands, smooth but cautious, like a man aware the temperature has changed, his instincts kicking in.
“Dorian Marshall,” I introduce myself, extending my hand with deliberate ease. “Marshall Enterprises.”
He shakes it—firm, but watchful. A man used to being the most powerful person in the room… until now.
“Greg Stanton, Silverline Global Media.”
Then recognition flashes in his eyes—curiosity sharpening.
“Marshall Enterprises. You reopened Excalibur last year, isn’t it?” He lets the question hang, just enough weight in it to show he’s impressed.
I allow the faintest curve of my lips—measured, knowing.
Greg lets out a short breath, smiling slightly.
“We attended the event. Spectacular work. I’ve been meaning to connect. Your hospitality model could align well with some of our European initiatives.”
“That’s right,” I say. “Glad to hear it left an impression.”
He gestures to the empty chair beside him, already seeing angles.
“I’d love to talk sometime,” he offers, his tone brightening. “We’ve been expanding partnerships—there might be room for something interesting.”
I nod politely, though my eyes never leave Della.
She hasn’t said a word.
But I see it—the flicker in her gaze. Surprise. Unease. Good.
I keep my tone even as I finally glance back to Greg.
“Perhaps another time,” I reply smoothly, before turning my gaze to her, letting it linger like a claim.
“For now, I was hoping to speak with Miss Toma. Privately.”
The words are wrapped in courtesy, but the air between us says the truth: this isn’t a request.
Greg glances at her, passing the decision to her—but we all know how this will play out.
Della’s answer comes cool, clipped, but steady.
