The voice comes from the doorway.
Dmitry stands there, black coat, dark eyes, every inch of him cutting through the noise. The room falls silent in an instant.
Hailey straightens, trying for charm. “We were just?—”
“Talking about me,” he finishes. “I heard.”
Nobody breathes.
He crosses the room slowly, stopping beside me. The energy shifts; the air tightens.
“For the record,” Dmitry says, his voice low but carrying, “Callista isn’t a gold digger. She didn’t chase me. I asked her out.”
The room stills.
“I can see why people talk,” he continues, eyes flicking from one girl to the next. “It’s easy to fill in blanks when you don’t have anything interesting in your own lives.”
Jenna bristles. “We didn’t mean anything by it.”
“I know,” he says smoothly. “You just forgot your manners.”
Silence. Embarrassment thickens the air. The girls glance at one another, flushed, caught between fear and fascination.
My heart races. I feel protected. For the first time in my life, it feels like I have someone in my corner. Someone clearing up the facts, someone defending me against people’s lies. Setting the record straight and showing people that I’m not defenseless. That there are people who care about me, too.
Dmitry turns to me. “You ready?”
I nod before I can think. My heart’s still racing, a mix of humiliation and something far more dangerous—pride. He stood up for me. Publicly. No one’s ever done that.
I look at the girls, my voice sharper than I intended. “Next time you’re curious about my relationship, ask me directly. Not when you’re gossiping like bored housewives.”
Their jaws drop.
It feels like breaking the surface after being underwater too long. I’ve never spoken like that, not to anyone.
Dmitry gestures toward the door. “Let’s go.”
I follow him out, every step a strange mix of adrenaline and satisfaction.
When we reach my room, I shut the door behind us. “You didn’t have to humiliate them.”
He looks at me, calm as always. “They humiliated you first.”
“I can handle myself.”
“You didn’t look like it.”
That stings, mostly because it’s true. “You can’t keep swooping in like some dark knight.”
“I’m not a dark knight, I’m you fake boyfriend” he says, and for the first today, I almost smile.
But then his tone changes. “You shouldn’t let people talk about you like that. You’re mine. They should know better.”
The wordminesends a shiver through me. I hate how much power it has.
“Stop saying that,” I whisper.
He takes a step closer. “You don’t want me to stop.”
