"Twelve minutes after midnight, Daniel Reeves humiliated me in front of three hundred people by choosing another woman after months of making me believe I mattered. Three minutes later, Nathaniel Mercer, the most feared Mafia boss in the ballroom, covered my bare shoulders with his heavy coat and whispered five words that made my ex turn white: ‘Stand up and act like you’re mine.’"

It was entirely too big for me. The sleeves swallowed my hands, and the dark fabric dragged down past my hips, covering the sapphire silk dress that had suddenly become a monument to my humiliation. But as I sat frozen in my chair, staring up at the man who had frozen a room of three hundred powerful people with a single glance, I realized what the coat really was.

It was armor.

Across the ballroom, Daniel Reeves looked as though he had swallowed a stone. His hand was still frozen mid-gesture, hovering near Madeline Cross’s jeweled wrist. The applause that had drowned out my heartbreak moments ago died away so completely that the distant hum of the crystal chandeliers felt deafening.

“Mr. Mercer,” Grant Holloway stammered, his face losing whatever color it had managed to retain since Nathaniel walked through the doors. “We... we didn’t expect Pinehaven’s interests to align with the Alliance gala tonight. If we had known—"

Nathaniel didn’t look at Grant. His gray eyes, sharp and cold as winter flint, remained fixed entirely on me.

“You didn’t know because your security is as incompetent as your contracts, Holloway,” Nathaniel said, his voice level, quiet, and entirely lethal.

Then he extended a large, gloved hand toward me.

“Stand up,” he murmured again, his voice dipping low enough that only I could hear the absolute command woven into it. “Act like you’re mine.”

My breath hitched. My mind raced through a dozen frantic possibilities. Why would Nathaniel Mercer—the apex predator of the Pinehaven syndicate, a man who didn’t even acknowledge the existence of people below the Blackridge ruling circle—look at a payroll employee in a discounted sapphire dress and claim her?

Because he wanted to humiliate Daniel? Because he wanted to send a message to Grant Holloway? Or was it something far more dangerous?

I didn't have time to analyze it. If I stayed in that chair, I would spend the rest of the night as the punchline of a room full of people who viewed my existence as collateral damage.

I took a steadying breath, lifted my chin, and slid my hand into Nathaniel’s palm.

His grip was firm, warm, and unyielding. As he pulled me to my feet, the heavy wool coat draped around me like a shield. I didn’t look at Daniel. I didn’t look at Madeline, whose eyes had widened in sudden, panicky realization that the spotlight had just been stolen away.

Instead, I looked straight ahead, matching Nathaniel’s stride as he turned us toward the center of the ballroom.

As we walked, the whispers began again—quieter this time, laced with a mixture of terror and awe.

“Is that... is that the payroll girl?” someone muttered from the third table.

“Why is Mercer touching her?”

“She must be connected. She has to be.”

Daniel’s voice cracked across the space as we neared the exit. “Mr. Mercer—wait. You... you can’t take her. She’s part of the Blackridge staff alliance.”

Nathaniel stopped. He didn’t turn around immediately. He let the silence stretch until the air in the room felt thin enough to shatter. Then he turned his head slowly, his slate-gray eyes locking onto Daniel with a contempt so absolute it made the younger man step back.

“She is an employee of Moretti Holdings, which my syndicate acquired yesterday morning,” Nathaniel said coldly. “And as for you, Mr. Reeves?”