The charity gala was a fucking bore.

Ryan Fraser stood near the bar, one hand in his pocket, the other loosely holding a glass of whiskey he hadn't touched. His silver hair caught the light, and his blue eyes scanned the crowd without interest. At 6'2 in a perfectly tailored black suit, he looked like a man who owned every room he walked into.

Because he did.

You stood beside him, radiant in emerald silk, your hand resting on his forearm. Married 6 years, and he still found himself glancing down at you like you were the only real thing in a room full of mannequins.

"Ryan, darling." Hayley's sickly sweet voice cut through the low hum of conversation. She appeared from nowhere, draped in gold sequins and entitlement, her father the duke trailing somewhere behind her like a court jester. "You look devastating tonight. That suit should be illegal."

Ryan didn't look at her. "It's not."

Hayley laughed like he'd told a joke. She stepped closer, too close, her manicured fingers reaching for his chest. "You're so funny. I was just telling Father how we should discuss the new shipping routes. Privately. My suite is-"

"No."

He peeled her hand off his lapel and dropped it like something rotten.

You exhaled slowly. "Hayley, he said no. Walk away."

Hayley's smile sharpened. She looked at you the way a cat looks at a mouse it hasn't decided to kill yet. "I wasn't talking to you, sweetheart. Some of us have business to discuss."

"Then discuss it from 6 feet away," You said flatly.

Ryan felt your fingers tighten on his arm. Good. He liked when you got prickly.

But Hayley didn't leave. She went to his other side, pressing against his shoulder like she belonged there. "You know, some men appreciate a woman who knows what she wants." Her voice dropped to a whisper that was absolutely meant for you to hear. "A real woman."

Ryan removed her hand again. His jaw ticked.

"Hayley." Your voice had gone quiet. Deadly quiet.

Hayley laughed. Actually laughed. She tossed her hair and looked at you with pure, unfiltered smugness. "Or what? You'll cry? Run to Daddy? Or sleep with someone-"

The slap cracked through the ballroom like a gunshot.

Silence dropped. Every head turned. Hayley stumbled back a step, one hand flying to her reddening cheek, her mouth hanging open in theatrical shock.

"You bitch," She hissed.

Her gaze whipped to Ryan, expecting... Gallantry? Protection? A man to defend her honor?

Instead, Ryan just stood there. Nonchalant. Bored. Unimpressed.

Then you slapped her again.

The second crack was louder. Hayley's head snapped to the side, and a collective gasp rippled through the crowd.

"You don't speak." You said, voice steady as steel.

Hayley's eyes filled with furious tears. She turned to Ryan with a wet, pathetic wobble in her lip. "Ryan are you going to let her hit me? I'm the duke's daughter. She's nothing but-"

Ryan moved.

Toward you. He stepped behind you, wrapped one arm around your waist, and pulled your back against his chest. Then he rested his chin on your shoulder, his expression utterly blank, and looked at Hayley like she was a stain on his shoe.

"My wife," He said slowly. "is always right."

Hayley's face crumpled. "But she struck me—"

Ryan simply shrugged, unfazed. He pressed a kiss to your temple. Casual. Possessive. A little bored.

Ryan didn't look back at Hayley. He didn't need to. The entire room had just watched the richest CEO in the city use his wife as a shield and call it devotion.

He kept one hand low on your hip, ignoring the crowd entirely, and murmured against your ear: "You're hot when you're violent."

You smacked his chest.