The Voss family ballroom pulsed with music, laughter, and flashing cameras. Champagne flowed like water. Elegance filled the room — but Dominic Voss stood still, unmoved by it all.
He was a man made of storms cold suit, sharp jaw, and an unreadable gaze scanning the crowd like a lion bored of the circus.
Until a quiet voice pierced through the chaos.
"Sir," came a low whisper from behind. It was his bodyguard, Kane. Discreet. Deadly.
Dominic didn't turn. "Speak."
Kane leaned closer, almost invisible to the guests nearby.
"Micah Alvarez. He's here. In uniform. Serving as a waiter."
A beat of silence.
Then Dominic slowly blinked, like a predator sharpening its focus.
"Where?" he asked flatly, his voice colder than the ice clinking in his untouched drink.
Near the catering entrance. He's been watching her and he spokewith madam at the hallway."
Dominic's jaw tightened. He set the glass down slowly, his fingers clenching once before he forced them to relax.
"Do not approach him yet."
Kane raised an eyebrow. "Sir?"
"Let him watch," Dominic said, his lips curling into a dangerous smirk. "Let him see who she belongs to now."
But inside, fury coiled in his chest.
The thought made Dominic's blood turn to fire. He looked across the ballroom, his eyes scanning until they landed on her again.
She was laughing at something Ivy said, a rare, soft sound that didn't belong in a place so dark.
Dominic took a deep breath and adjusted his cufflink, voice low again.
"Make sure he doesn't leave without a little… reminder."
Kane nodded.
"Yes, sir."
***
Hang in there, Liana, he thought. Just a little longer.
But the hope in his chest turned to dread when he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder.
He turned.
Two men in black suits both broad, both with the quiet ruthlessness of men who never needed to raise their voices to be feared.
"Come with us," the taller one said. Not a request.
Micah's instincts screamed at him to run. But he nodded, calm.
They led him through a discreet hallway, past marble columns and velvet drapes, until they reached a private corridor behind the staff kitchens.
No music. No lights. No witnesses.
"We know who you are, Alvarez," one said. "And more importantly he knows."
Micah's spine stiffened. "Let me guess. Dominic sent you."
"He's feeling generous tonight. You should be grateful this isn't worse."
One of them stepped forward, their voice like gravel.
"Stay. Away. From the girl."
Micah clenched his jaw. "She's not his. She's—"
His head slammed against the cold brick wall, the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth.
"You don't get it, do you?" one of them snarled, driving a fist into his ribs. Pain shot through him, sharp and blinding.
Micah staggered but didn't fall. "She doesn't belong to him," he rasped, defiance burning through the haze of agony.
The taller man grabbed him by the collar, lifting him just enough for his feet to scrape the ground. "Stay. Away. From. miss Hayes." Each word was punctuated by a brutal punch to his gut.
"Next time, we'll make sure you can't walk away." This is your first and last warning.
Micah collapsed onto his knees as they left, boots crunching against the gravel. He coughed, his vision swimming, but even through the pain, he clenched his jaw.
They thought they could scare him off. They had no idea.
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