Her eyes light up. "Another gift? Calvin, you've already given me so much?—"
"Nothing compared to what I'm about to give you," I interrupt, my decision crystallizing. No more waiting. No more hiding. "And nothing compared to what I'm about to ask of you."
Confusion flickers across her face. "What do you mean?"
I take her hand in mine, marveling as always at how small and delicate her fingers are compared to mine. How perfectly we fit together despite our differences. "Do you trust me?"
She doesn't hesitate. "Yes."
One word. So simple. So fucking powerful coming from her lips.
"Then come with me."
I lead her toward the stage where the band is playing some bland jazz number, my mind racing ahead. This isn't how I planned it. I had a whole speech prepared for later, private words meant for her ears alone. But standing here, surrounded by the elite of society, I'm seized by an overwhelming need to show everyone exactly who Wren belongs to.
The band falters as I stride onto the stage, pulling Wren alongside me. Confused murmurs ripple through the crowd as I gesture for the musicians to stop.
"Calvin, what are you doing?" Wren whispers, her eyes wide with alarm.
I ignore her question, taking the microphone from its stand. "Good evening," my voice booms through the speakers, silencing the room instantly. Five hundred faces turn toward us, expressions ranging from curiosity to shock. "I'll keep this brief. Most of you know I'm not one for public displays."
A nervous chuckle runs through the crowd. I'm known for my privacy, my aloofness. This is wildly out of character.
"Two weeks ago, my life changed forever." My eyes find Wren's, holding her gaze as I speak. "I met someone who redefined everything I thought I knew about myself. About what I want. About what I'm willing to do to keep what's mine."
The room is so silent you could hear a pin drop. Wren's face has drained of color, her pulse visibly hammering in her throat. She knows what's coming. She just doesn't know I'm doing it here, now.
I release her hand only long enough to reach into my pocket, retrieving the small velvet box. A collective gasp rises from the audience as I drop to one knee in front of her. In front of everyone.
"Wren Calloway," I say, no longer speaking into the microphone but loud enough that the front rows can hear, "from the moment I saw you, I knew you were mine. My little bird. My perfect match. My obsession."
Tears gather in her eyes, spilling over as I open the box to reveal the ring—a flawless five-carat diamond set in platinum, simple yet unmistakably expensive. Unmistakably mine.
"I'm not asking you to be my wife," I continue, watching confusion flicker across her face. "That's too small a word for what I want from you. I want all of you, Wren. Every breath. Every thought. Every moment of your life from this day forward." I take the ring from its velvet nest. "I want to protect you, keep you forever. I want to build an empire with you by my side. I want to wake up to your face every morning until I die." I take her trembling left hand in mine. "This isn't a question. This is a statement of fact. You are mine, and I am yours, and I want the whole fucking world to know it."
I slide the ring onto her finger, where it glitters under the ballroom lights. It fits perfectly, of course. I made sure of that, having measured her finger while she slept.
Somewhere in the crowd, a woman gasps. Someone else whispers furiously. I don't give a single fuck about any of them. All that matters is the look on Wren's face—shock giving way to wonder, to joy.
"Calvin," she whispers, and my name on her lips is still the sweetest sound I've ever heard.
I rise to my feet, towering over her, claiming her space. "Say yes," I command, loud enough for the front rows to hear. "Tell them all who you belong to."
Her eyes never leave mine as she speaks, clear and confident. "Yes. I'm yours, Calvin. Only yours."
The possessive beast inside me roars with triumph. I grab her, one hand at the small of her back, the other tangling in her hair, and crush my mouth to hers. It's not a gentle kiss. It's not appropriate for public consumption. It's raw and dominant and claiming, my tongue pushing past her lips, marking her as mine in front of the most influential people in the city.
When I finally release her, she's breathless, lips swollen, cheeks flushed. Perfect. I turn back to the microphone, addressing the stunned audience.
"As you can see, I've found my match," I announce, arm still possessively around Wren's waist. "Some of you may disapprove. Some of you may gossip. I don't care. Anyone who has a problem with Wren as my partner—in business and in life—can find the door. And find another company to do business with."
The threat hangs in the air for a moment before, remarkably, applause breaks out. Led by old man Henderson, my longest-standing investor, it spreads through the room like wildfire. Not everyone joins in—I note the sour faces, the shocked expressions, mentally cataloging who will need to be dealt with later—but enough do that Wren relaxes slightly against me.
I guide her off the stage, ignoring the surge of people trying to approach us. My security team forms a barrier, giving us a clear path toward the exit. I have no intention of staying now that I've accomplished my goal.
"What about the rest of the gala?" Wren asks as I usher her into the waiting limo. "Don't you have to stay? Make speeches?"
I slide in beside her, signaling the driver to go. "Fuck the gala. I've done what I came to do."
