“Properly.”
His arm settled around my waist, firm, locking me in place without hurting me, but leaving no room to move. Heat rushed to my face as I became painfully aware of the eyes on us.
“People are staring,” I hissed.
“Good,” he said, his voice low near my ear. The word sent something cold through me. “Let them.”
Another flash went off somewhere in front of us, someone clearly bold enough to capture this moment. I tried to shift, but his grip didn’t loosen.
“Smile,” he murmured. “You will always smile when they take our picture.”
“I’m not happy,” I hissed.
His fingers pressed into my hip, just enough to remind me I wasn’t the one in control. I forced a small, tight curve of my lips anyway.
“Better,” he said.
“You’re humiliating me,” I murmured. His grip tightened slightly, not enough to hurt, just enough to hold me still.
“No,” he said quietly. “I’m protecting you from every bad man in this room.”
I went still at that, the words settling somewhere deeper than I wanted them to.
Another man passed by the table, his gaze lingering a fraction too long. Leo didn’t move, didn’t say anything, but the man faltered anyway, looking away like he’d been warned. And it was all clear to me.
This wasn’t just about control. This was a message. To everyone watching. To the cameras. To anyone who might be thinking the wrong thing.
Don’t touch. Don’t look. Don’t forget.
Because I wasn’t just sitting on his lap. I was being claimed. And the worst part was… it was working. I could feel my body giving in even when I tried to stop it. Somewhere inside me, the need to be touched woke up. I had to fight my body not to show how much it wanted his touch. How I craved his hands on me. How I wished they’d be even more daring.
I hated my body disobeying me. But I still smiled, just like he’d told me to.
The show ended in a blur of applause and movement, people rising from their seats, conversations picking up again as the lights shifted. Leo’s attention slipped for half a second, just long enough for someone to approach him, and long enough for his hand to loosen at my waist.
That was all I needed.
I slid off his lap before he could stop me, forcing myself not to rush, not to draw attention as I stepped away from the table.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” I muttered. “Where is it?”
His eyes swallowed me up, amusement playing behind them. “Down that hallway.”
My heart was already racing, my ankle protesting with every step, but I didn’t let it slow me down.
Don’t run, I reminded myself.Not yet.
I moved through the crowd, weaving between bodies, keeping my head down just enough to avoid recognition while still looking like I belonged. The exit was there, I’d seen it when we came in. Glass doors, security just beyond.
Freedom was within reach. I picked up my pace. No one stopped me. I could barely believe it, and my heart sped up with hope and fear combined.
The air shifted as I pushed through the glass doors, the noise of the event fading behind me, replaced by the cooler, quieter space outside. My breath came faster, uneven, as I kept moving, ignoring the sharp pain shooting up my leg.
Almost free.
I didn’t stop when the night air hit my lungs, didn’t slow when the music dulled behind me or when the pain in my ankle sharpened into something hot and vicious, because stopping meant thinking, and thinking meant hesitation, and hesitation would get me caught.
I pushed forward, forcing my body through the shadows until the lights from the event disappeared behind me, and the world narrowed into a dark, unfamiliar stretch of an empty alley that felt like the only place left to breathe.
