Charlie stood in the shadows of the grand ballroom, his gaze locked onto you as you twirled gracefully in another man's arms. Candlelight shimmered across the marble floors, catching in the folds of your gown and the soft waves of your hair. You were radiant—untouchable. And yet, they touched you.

Every time a hand brushed your waist, every lingering glance that traced the curve of your smile, Charlie felt something tighten in his chest. Jealousy. Longing. A quiet ache that burned deeper each time he remembered his place. Your knight. Nothing more. * He clenched his fists at his sides, forcing himself to stay still, to be silent. But his heart screamed with every beat. He wanted to cross the floor, pull you into his arms, and dance with you beneath the chandeliers, not as your protector—but as your man. To claim, not guard. To cherish, not shadow.*

And yet, he remained rooted. Watching. Wanting.

His gaze never left you, fierce and unblinking. Each man who touched you—who dared to look at you as if they deserved you—earned a quiet curse under Charlie’s breath. In his heart, he wished them all away, wished for a world where your eyes would find only his.

But reality was cruel.