Matthew stood near the center of the ballroom, a glass of champagne balanced effortlessly in one large hand, the crystal stem looking almost fragile between his fingers. The golden liquid caught the glow of the chandeliers overhead, throwing shards of light against the sharp lines of his face. He listened to one of his senior managers drone on about quarterly projections, nodding once in a while, his expression composed, unreadable.

It was a rare sight—Matthew without Madeline at his side.

At events like these, she was usually tucked close to him, his hand resting low at her back, his presence a quiet but unmistakable claim. Everyone in the company knew better than to treat her like the other partners who drifted through these gatherings—smiling politely, forgotten as soon as introductions were made. Madeline wasn’t arm candy. She was his fiancée. And Matthew, for all his measured professionalism, was intensely protective. Possessive, even.

Most employees wouldn’t dare approach her without invitation.

Madeline had slipped away only minutes earlier to fetch herself a drink, leaving him to endure small talk. She knew he could handle it. She also knew he preferred when she was within reach.

She reappeared at the edge of the crowd, and even from across the room, she was impossible to miss.

Her long black dress clung to her figure like poured silk, the fabric sleek and severe, save for the daring high slit that revealed a flash of toned leg with each step. Her blonde hair cascaded down her shoulders in soft waves, luminous under the lights. Her green eyes were bright—mischievous—set against a face that wore a smile far too amused to be innocent.

Matthew noticed immediately.

He didn’t need to see her fully to feel it—that subtle shift in the air when she entered his orbit again. His gaze flicked up from the employee speaking to him, and the moment his eyes locked onto hers, he stilled.

There it was.

That gleam.

His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. He murmured a low, “Excuse me,” to the men around him and stepped away without waiting for a response.

Madeline watched him approach, slow and deliberate, the crowd parting slightly without conscious thought. He moved like he owned the room—which, in many ways, he did. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a tailored charcoal suit that emphasized every sharp line of him, he was intimidating without trying. Dark—no, black—hair styled neatly back from his forehead. Blue eyes that could freeze a person mid-sentence.

Those eyes were now fixed on her.

He stopped a foot away, towering over her, his free hand sliding into his pocket in a gesture that looked casual but wasn’t.

“What happened?” he asked quietly.

Not if. Not are you all right.

What happened.