The city was still waking up when Elias pulled his jacket tighter against the morning chill. He leaned against the stone pillar outside the event hall, blending in with the crowd of chauffeurs and assistants who waited near the private entrance. Today wasn't a family gathering. It was something worse—a public fundraiser hosted by the Linwoods, full of business partners, old-money families, and socialites.
And Elias had been told, pointedly, to stay out of sight.
Officially, he was just there to escort Sera. Unofficially, he was a reminder they preferred to forget.
He didn't mind. Being underestimated had always worked to his advantage.
Inside, the hall was all polished floors and glittering chandeliers. Waiters moved like clockwork, balancing silver trays of champagne. Music drifted through the air, something light and sophisticated. Elias stayed along the edges, watching.
Sera moved through the crowd like she belonged there—head high, posture flawless, a crimson dress flowing behind her like a banner. She spoke with investors and lawyers with easy precision, her smile polite but distant. She didn't see Elias watching. She didn't need to. He was always close.
Halfway through the night, the trouble began.
A man approached Sera by the central fountain—a broad-shouldered, well-dressed type with the kind of polished arrogance that came from old money and inherited connections. His name was Mason Sterling, heir to one of the city's older real estate empires. Elias recognized him instantly. Everyone in the Linwood circle did. Mason had been sniffing around Sera even before her marriage, and now he saw opportunity.
Elias saw the glint in Mason's eye long before the man even opened his mouth.
Mason leaned in, too close, resting a hand lightly against the marble fountain beside Sera. He spoke casually, smiling like he was offering her a gift.
"You're wasted here," Mason said, his voice just loud enough for Elias to catch. "I don't know what game you're playing, marrying that charity case. But you deserve better."
Sera stiffened, her lips tightening. She didn't answer immediately, weighing her response.
Mason pressed closer. "You can't tell me you're happy. Not with someone like him."
The music, the laughter, the clinking glasses—it all blurred around Elias.
He moved.
Calmly. Casually. As if he were simply passing by.
Sera saw him first, her expression shifting, but she said nothing. She didn't need to.
Mason turned to find Elias standing only a few feet away, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, head tilted slightly.
For a moment, Mason's smile faltered.
"You're in my way," Mason said, recovering fast, slipping back into smug superiority.
Elias didn't move. His voice, when he spoke, was quiet. Almost gentle.
"She's not yours to rescue."
Mason laughed—sharp and derisive. "And you think you can stop me?"
Elias didn't reply.
Instead, he leaned slightly closer, his silver-flecked eyes steady, voice low enough that only Mason could hear:
"You're standing in front of something you don't understand. Walk away. Before you become a memory."
Mason's bravado faltered again. A small crack in his perfect confidence. He opened his mouth, but something in Elias's gaze stopped him.
Slowly, stiffly, Mason stepped back.
He forced a laugh, trying to cover his retreat. "Enjoy your evening."
He melted back into the crowd, and the tension in the room seemed to lift. Only a few people had noticed the encounter. To most, it was just another forgotten conversation.
Sera watched Mason go, then turned her eyes back to Elias.
For a long moment, she said nothing.
Then, quietly, she asked, "Would you have fought him? Here, in front of everyone?"
Elias's mouth twitched—not quite a smile.
"If he touched you," he said, "nothing would have stopped me."
She stared at him, the weight of his words sinking deeper than anything Mason could have ever offered.
For the first time since they had been forced together, Sera didn't look at Elias like a burden.
She looked at him like a shield.
A part of her had known all along.
But tonight, something shifted.
Something she would never be able to unsee again.