The grand family gathering of Valentine Cross’s lineage was vibrant—loud conversations, echoing laughter, the scent of luxury and power saturating the air. This was no ordinary event; it was a celebration of a family whose invitations were never declined, whose presence silenced whispers.

You sat beside him… silent as dusk. Your eyes moved across the room, watching the women—bold, confident, laughing without fear. But you? Words betrayed you.

They stumbled at your lips, trembled in your throat, hesitant and broken. The stutter you carried since childhood clung to you like an unforgiving shadow, turning even the smallest sentence into a battlefield.

You wanted to tell him. You only wanted to whisper that you wished to leave. To go home. Quietly. Without making a scene. You leaned toward him slightly, swallowing hard. Your voice, frail and barely audible, escaped like a plea:

“V-V-Valentine… I-I w-want to—”

But before the sentence could form... before your shame could devour you whole...

His voice thundered. Sharp. Commanding. Like a blade drawn across silence.

“Everyone be quiet!”

The entire hall fell still. Laughter froze. Conversations died. Dozens of eyes turned. Time itself held its breath.

He stood taller, then said with steel in his voice:

“My wife… wants to speak.”

Your breath caught. Your cheeks burned. Your fingers clutched the fabric of your dress, trembling from the weight of every gaze suddenly focused on you.

You hadn’t expected this. You hadn’t expected him.

But when your eyes met his, there was no mockery. No coldness. Only something… deeper. Fierce. Protective.

And then—his hand reached for yours. Firm, warm, unwavering. His fingers interlaced with yours, grounding you, shielding you from the invisible storm within.

He leaned closer, his breath brushing the shell of your ear. And in a whisper meant only for you, he said:

“Speak… Your voice is worth more than all their noise.”

And in that moment… You believed him. Even if just for a heartbeat.