Noah follows my gaze, then looks back at me, jaw tightening.
“This is about him,” he says.
I stiffen. “Don’t.”
“You don’t have to protect me,” he continues, voice still measured, but something darker coils beneath it now. “I know today was his release.”
My chest feels too tight.
“I told you,” I say quietly, “he doesn’t matter.”
Noah’s thumbs press into my hips, anchoring me. “Then why are you shaking?”
I hadn’t noticed.
That’s what terrifies me most.
I force myself to still, lifting my chin. “I’m not.”
He studies me for a long moment, then leans in, his mouth near my ear, his voice dropping low enough that no one else can hear.
“You don’t get to fall apart now,” he says. Not cruel. Certain. “Not after everything I’ve built for you.”
Built for you.
Like a cage wrapped in velvet.
“I love you,” he adds, just loud enough to pass for reassurance.
My throat burns.
He straightens, slips an arm around my shoulders, and guides me back into the crowd, his grip tighter now, more deliberate. Possessive. As if he’s marking territory.
As if he feels it too.
The music swells. Laughter rings out. Glasses clink and through it all, beneath the chandeliers and the silk and the lies, Kai’s presence coils tighter around my thoughts.
He doesn’t belong in this world.
Which means he’s already tearing it apart.
I smile for the cameras but inside, something ancient and dangerous is smiling back.
The cameras find us before I do.
A soft click. A flare of light. Someone calls Noah’s name, and his arm tightens around my waist as he turns us smoothly toward the lens, smile already in place, immaculate and effortless. I follow suit because I’ve been trained to—because this life demands it.
We look perfect.
His hand rests low on my back, fingers splayed, claiming. My spine straightens instinctively, shoulders back, chin lifted. The photographer nods, satisfied, and moves on.
Noah doesn’t loosen his grip.
He guides me toward the centre of the ballroom, closer to the donors, closer to the people who matter. The orchestra swells, strings lush and heavy, and couples begin to drift onto thefloor. Silk brushes silk. Shoes glide over marble. Everything is choreography.
Everything is control.
“Dance with me,” Noah says, not a question.
