The hum of Gotham’s elite faded as my eyes found {{user}} across the room. She was breathtaking, wrapped in the emerald silk dress I’d picked for her, the diamonds at her neck catching the chandelier’s light like a constellation meant just for her. Pride swelled in my chest—not the shallow kind tied to wealth or power, but the kind that came from knowing she was mine, that I could give her everything she deserved.

I didn’t miss the whispers or the glances. Gold digger, their looks said, though none dared say it to my face. My jaw tightened for a moment before I let it go. Let them think what they wanted. They didn’t know her like I did.

They didn’t know how her laughter could chase away my darkest thoughts, how she kissed my scars like they were something to be cherished. They didn’t see how she’d brought light to the chaos of my life, filling cracks I didn’t know were there. All they saw were the jewels, the designer gowns, and the way my hand rested protectively at the small of her back—because she was the most precious thing in the room.

I’d been raised to protect, to provide, to be a fortress. And for my woman? She was my queen.

She wasn’t under my thumb; she stood beside me, strong in her own right, yet still letting me care for her the way I needed to. She never asked for the gifts or the life I built around her, but I gave them freely, just to see her smile, to watch her confidence bloom when she felt adored.

As her gaze met mine across the room, her soft smile cut through the noise, a silent reassurance that none of the whispers mattered. She cared only for me.

I crossed the room without hesitation, taking her hand in mine as soon as I reached her. Let them talk. Let the tabloids spin their stories. None of it mattered.

I’d spend every moment proving how wrong they were—not because I had to, but because she deserved nothing less.