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She softens immediately. Takes a breath as her spine melts into my chest. Another.

My chest rises and falls with hers. Her dress catches against the callouses of my palm.

I curl my fingers into the fabric, fisting it along her hip.

She pushes back against me, and I try to ignore the way she rubs against my dick.

Around us, the ballroom ceases to exist. The sounds are muffled, like the Stand on game day. I know it’s loud, but the sound isn’t registering. Not with every atom of my being centered on Sadie leaned into my body.

She fits.

The other man’s eyes flick up. “Sadie?”

I don’t like the way he says her name, dripping with condescension.

I don’t like the way he looks at her, as if she belongs to him.

I meet his gaze even as I drop my chin to Sadie’s bare shoulder. Her skin is cold, covered in gooseflesh. I press my lips to the curve and she presses even closer.

“Sadie.” Not a question this time, not with the way his eyes harden. “I asked you a question.”

He didn’t ask her. Not really.

“You’re m-making her u-u-uncomfortable. Apologize a-and walk away.”

He laughs. Like I just told him I moonlight as a ballerina.

“This is the guy?” he says, looking back at Sadie. “The great Viking savior? Thought you liked men who could finish a sentence.”

Sadie stiffens.

So do I, but I don’t rise to it. I breathe.

In. Out. Just like I do before a shootout.

Sadie’s still against me, spine pressed to my chest, her arms crossed like a shield she forgot she doesn’t need anymore. She’s shaking—only a little—but I feel it, the way her muscles flutter beneath my palm.

“I s-said,” I repeat, quieter now, leaning in enough that my breath brushes the shell of her ear, “you’re m-making her uncomfortable. A-apologize. And w-walk away.”

Christian doesn’t move.

For a beat, he just watches her. Watches us.

Like he’s measuring how far he can push.

Like he thinks he still has some kind of claim on her.

And I realize, suddenly and with cold clarity, that he doesn’t see her as a person.

Just as something that used to be his. Something he thinks still should be.

“She didn’t say that,” he says, smug again, like he’s found a loophole. “She’s just overwhelmed. She gets like this, don’t you, sweetheart? Emotional. Overreacting. Always needs someone to save her.”

Sadie flinches.

And that—that’s what does it. Not the insult to me. The dig at her.

I move slowly, deliberately, letting her feel every shift of my body as I turn her slightly, enough that I can put myself more squarely between them. My arm never leaves her waist. She doesn’t let go of me either.

“She doesn’t n-need saving,” I say, voice calm. “She n-n-needs s-space. And a m-man who r-respects what she s-says. Even when i-it’s not said o-out loud.”

Christian opens his mouth—probably to argue, probably to twist something—but he catches the look in my eyes and thinks better of it.

His smile falters. Just a hair. “I’ll find you later, sweetheart,” he mutters, stepping back.

Sadie doesn’t respond. She’s too still. Too quiet. Christian mutters something else under his breath, but I don’t care. I’m not listening. My focus is entirely on the woman in my arms. She’s trembling again.

I draw her away from the pillar, guiding her gently toward the corner of the ballroom where the shadows are thicker and the music isn’t so sharp.

I wait until we’re mostly alone—just the edge of a ficus and a linen-draped table between us and the rest of the party—and then I shift, hands cupping her face.

“Sadie.”

She blinks up at me, lashes wet, breath shallow. “Sorry,” she whispers. “I didn’t—I didn’t mean for you to see that.”

“I’m g-glad I did.”

She shakes her head, hair sticking to the gloss on her lips.

She exhales, shaky, “I thought I could handle it.”

My thumbs stroke over her cheeks. “You d-don’t have to h-handle anything alone.”

She closes her eyes as if my words hit too deep, and then she folds.

Stepping into my chest like she’s giving up a fight I didn’t even know she was still having.

Her arms come around my waist and her forehead drops against my sternum.

I wrap both arms around her and hold tight, blocking out the lights and the violin and every single person in this cursed room.

“I’m sorry,” she says again, voice muffled against the crisp cotton of my shirt. “That I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want anyone to know.”

“Y-you owe me n-nothing,” I say into her hair. “This i-is not your f-fault.”

She doesn’t answer, not with words.

Just nods. Just breathes. Just fits. And for now, that’s enough.

From the far side of the room, Spags appears. Calm. Collected. Like he knew.

“You two,” he says, tone light, almost bored. “Need an escape?”

He jerks his head toward the rear hallway. I glance at Sadie. Her hand is trembling slightly. Her breathing is ragged. I nod. Slide my hand down her back.

“C-come on.”

“Ragnar, I—I can’t leave.”

“Yes, y-you c-can.” I stop, turning to face her fully.

Her eyes are wide, frantic.

“People will notice. My mom—she’ll search for me. Someone will ask questions, and Christian—he’ll twist it. It’ll be my fault. I’ll get in trouble.”

My jaw tightens. I step into her space, not to intimidate—just to steady. To hold her up when her fear wants to drag her under.

“You w-won’t,” I say firmly. “You won’t get in t-trouble.”

“But—”

“Look a-at me, Sadie.”

She does.

“I don’t c-care who’s w-w-watching. I don’t care what he s-says. You do not owe this night your b-b-body, your p-peace, or y-your silence. You want o-out? I’ve g-got you. And i-if a-a-anyone has a problem with it, they c-come to me.”

Her breath catches. Her fingers twist into mine.

“I’ve g-got you,” I say again, voice like iron wrapped in velvet. “L-let’s go.”

And this time, she follows.

“I have to at least say my goodbyes, Ragnar.” She says, tears audible between each word. “My boss—”

Over her shoulder, I make eye contact with Spags. He gives us a casual thumbs up.

“Don’t worry. I got this.”

“Wait—what are you going to do?” Sadie whispers as we hustle toward the doors.

Spags grins. “I’m charming and unpredictable. I’ll come up with something.”

He winks. “You didn’t see me.”

And just like that—we disappear.