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My blood goes quiet.

“Someone like you?” I ask, voice flat.

She leans in like she’s about to share a secret. “Physically speaking, I mean. She’s not exactly model material, Liam.”

And there it is.

I step forward. Close enough she has to tilt her chin to hold my gaze. “You don’t get to talk about her.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“She’s more than you’ll ever be. She’s brilliant, real, and so fucking beautiful it makes my chest hurt. So next time you feel like opening your mouth... don’t.”

Samantha blanches, stammers, and backs off so fast she nearly topples her wine.

I turn away before I say something worse. Before I prove why I have a reputation for throwing punches.

And that’s when I see Katarina.

She’s across the room, standing by the cocktail tables. Except now? She looks like she’s barely holding it together. Shoulders rigid. Wine glass clutched like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded.

Shit. She heard. Or enough of it to twist the knife.

I shove past the sea of designer fabric and camera-ready faces. The noise falls away as I close the distance, as she turns and nails me with a look that freezes me mid-step.

“Katarina—”

“Enjoying your fan club?” Her voice cuts clean and cold.

“It’s not what you think.”

“Really?” Her brow lifts that dangerous mix of sweet and scathing.

“Because from where I’m standing, it kinda looked like you were vibing with Malibu Barbie. The limited edition—now with extra filler and less emotional depth.”

She takes a sip of her wine, steady now. “I’m sure she’s a dream—if you’re into women who only cry when their spray tan gets wet.”

Fuck.

“Did you hear what I told her.”

“I heard enough.” She takes a sip. Her hands are shaking, but she doesn’t give me the satisfaction of seeing it. “Don’t worry, Liam. I get it. I’m the consolation prize in heels.”

“That’s not—”

“It’s fine.” her voice breaks on the last word, and that crack nearly undoes me, like a fucking fault line splitting open in the middle of my chest. “We both know what this is.”

“No.” I step in, crowding her space. “We don’t.”

I steer her toward an empty corner, away from the eyes and the noise. She doesn’t stop me, but she doesn’t give me anything either. Just stares straight ahead, waiting for me to disappoint her again.

“Didn’t you hear what I said to her?” I ask, my voice low, tight. I step closer, like I can somehow make her believe it if I close the space between us.

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Just stares at me like she’s waiting for the next lie to drop.

“I told her you weren’t just someone I worked with. I told her to keep your name out of her mouth before I made her regret opening it.” I step in closer, my voice low and hard. “She tried to reduce you to a fucking accessory—I made it clear she could shove her gold-plated bullshit and plastic smile straight and fuck off.”

Her lips part slightly, but she doesn’t speak. Her fingers tighten around her wineglass like she’s bracing for impact.