But the second I heard his voice—sleazy and smug, just like I remembered—something deep in my chest turned cold.
He doesn’t know I overheard that conversation.
That I heard him tell my father I’d be a strategic match. That marrying me would elevate his name. Make our families stronger.
He thought I was some kind of pawn on a board they already owned.
And now he’s here, touching my arm like we’re old friends and not two people with a burned bridge between us. Acting like it’s fate that brought us back together.
I glance sideways at Langston.
I didn’t even have time to react before he was there—shoulders squared, voice sharp, pulling me out of the fog with five angry words:
“Don’t fucking touch my wife.”
Now he walks beside me, silent, his presence bigger than anyone else in the room. He doesn’t fumble or hesitate. He just moves, nodding to employees and managers who straighten the second they see him—like he owns the place.
And maybe he does.
I look up at him, eyebrows raised. “Do you… own this hotel?”
Langston smiles, a slow, knowing curve of his lips that makes my chest flip.
“No,” he says, then leans closer, voice warm by my ear. “A friend of mine does.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “What kind of friend owns a place like this?”
He keeps walking like it’s no big deal. “Liam Rizzoli.”
I stop in my tracks. “The billionaire?”
Langston gives a little shrug, like duh, and heads for the front desk while I try to convince my face to return to normal.
He doesn’t even hesitate when the receptionist greets him by name. “Penthouse suite. Two nights.”
I step forward. “Two nights?”
Langston turns his head slowly toward me, eyes glittering.
Then he winks. “Just in case.”
I should roll my eyes. I should give him hell.
But instead, heat blooms low in my stomach… and for the first time since Elliott spun me around, I smile.
The boy at the front desk hands over our key cards with a polite smile—his eyes lingering a little too long on me.
I smile back, mostly out of habit.
Langston’s low growl rumbles beside me.
“Eyes off my wife, kid.”
My mouth drops open as the poor guy’s cheeks flush crimson. I jab my elbow into Langston’s side and hiss, “You can’t say things like that!”
He shrugs, not sorry at all. “I absolutely can.”
I scoff out loud, but inside?
