The dress was a liquid silk the color of a bruised plum. It clung to Elara like a second skin, chosen by Julian’s stylists to scream opulence.

"Lift your chin," Julian commanded as they stood before the massive mahogany doors of the Metropolitan Ballroom. He reached out, his fingers lingering on the cold diamonds he’d fasted around her throat. "You aren't a victim tonight, Elara. You’re the woman who tamed a monster. Look at me like you’d die for me."

"I might actually have to," she whispered, her heart hammering against her ribs.

The doors swung open. A wall of camera flashes blinded her. Julian’s arm slid around her waist, pulling her flush against his side. His touch was firm, possessive.

"Smile," he murmured into her ear, his breath hitching as her hair brushed his cheek.

Across the room, a man with silver hair and a predatory grin watched them. Vanderbilt. Julian’s greatest rival. He approached them, a glass of champagne in hand.

"Julian. I didn't think you had a heart to lose," Vanderbilt sneered, his eyes raking over Elara. "Where did you find this little bird? She looks... fragile. Like she might break if I squeezed too hard."

Julian’s grip on Elara’s waist tightened until it was almost painful. "She’s sturdier than she looks, Arthur. And she’s mine. Touch her, and I’ll burn your portfolio to ash."

The tension was a physical weight. Elara realized then that she wasn't just a witness; she was a shield. But as Julian looked down at her, the ice in his eyes flickered. For a split second, it wasn't an act.