The air’s thick with perfume and politics. Champagne flutes everywhere, people talking too loud, laughing too hard. A party disguised as celebration, but really it’s just another battlefield with chandeliers overhead.

She moves through it like it belongs to her. Every turn of her head, every flick of her dress catches attention. Not that she notices—or maybe she does, and she simply doesn’t care.

I stay a step behind. Not because she needs me to. Because I need to. My hand hovers near her spine, brushing lightly against fabric whenever someone edges too close. A silent reminder that she’s not alone. A louder reminder to everyone else that she’s mine. As if the ridiculously sized ring on her finger doesn’t scream it.

Someone leans in to greet her. I don’t hear the words—don’t need to. My stare is enough to send him stumbling back, mumbling an excuse before vanishing into the crowd.

She glances up at me, lips tugging with amusement. “You know you can’t glare every person in this room into submission.”

“Watch me,” I answer, not breaking eye contact with the next fool who lingers too long.

Her laugh softens the edges of the night. God, that sound—light in the middle of all this noise. She shakes her head, but she doesn’t move away. If anything, she leans closer, her shoulder brushing against mine.

We pause near the terrace doors. She sets her glass on a tray, tilts her face toward the glow of the city beyond. I don’t look at the skyline. I look at her—at the way the light paints her skin, at the curve of her mouth when she’s lost in thought.

“Christian,” she says, quiet now, only for me. “You’re behaving like a shadow.”

I slip a hand around her waist, pulling her in, letting the crowd disappear behind us. “Not a shadow,” I murmur against her hair. “A shield.”

Across the room, someone watches too long. I don’t raise my voice. Don’t move an inch. Just let my gaze cut through the space between us until he looks away.

She catches it, of course. She always does. Her smile blooms slow, like she’s both exasperated and secretly pleased. “Possessive much?”

“Always,” I say, brushing my lips over her temple. “And unapologetically so, especially when it comes to my wife.”