Page 85 of My Big, Fat, Hot Billionaire Enemy

He’s repeating his warning, publicly this time.

Fury, cold and sharp, coils in my gut. He’s trying to intimidate her. Trying to intimidate me.

Using this public stage to assert his dominance, to remind me of the leverage he thinks he holds through Weiss.

I meet his gaze directly. The smile doesn’t reach his eyes. It never does.

I won’t let it reach mine, either.

“My judgment is perfectly clear, Father,” I state, my voice cutting through the surrounding chatter. Heads are turning. People are noticing the confrontation. Good. “Ms. Hammond’s presence here tonightreflects the strength of the partnership Project Nightingale represents. A partnership I am fully committed to.” I deliberately shift closer to Lucy, making my alignment undeniable. “Any attempt to undermine that partnership, from any source,” my eyes flick meaningfully towards Weiss, who flinches slightly, “will be dealt with decisively.”

The air crackles with tension. My father’s smile tightens. His eyes narrow. He sees the defiance. The public rejection of his authority. The choice I’ve just made clear to everyone watching.

“Strong words, Christopher,” he says softly. “Let’s hope your actions live up to them.” He gives Lucy one last dismissive look, then turns sharply, Weiss trailing in his wake like a suckerfish following a shark.

The immediate vicinity clears, people suddenly finding somewhere else to be, unwilling to get caught in the Blackwell family crossfire.

Lucy lets out a breath she was clearly holding.

“Well,” she says, her voice a little shaky despite her outward composure. “That was… intense.”

“That waspredictable,” I reply grimly. My father thrives on intimidation and control. But he miscalculated. He thought threatening me through her would make me back down.

It did the opposite.

I need to get her away from prying eyes. Away from the toxic atmosphere my father always leaves in his wake.

“Come on.” I take her elbow, steering her away from the main crowd, towards the nearby French doors.

We find ourselves standing upon a stone balcony overlooking the gardens.

The air is cooler out here. Quieter.The distant strains of the orchestra drift from the ballroom. Below us, manicured hedges form intricate patterns under the moonlight.

Lucy leans against the stone balustrade, looking out at the view. The moonlight catches the curve of her cheekbone, the line of her throat.

She looks incredible.

Strong.

Resilient.

Beautiful.

We stand in silence for a moment. The confrontation with my father stripped away the pretense. The strategic rationale feels thin now, overshadowed by something far more potent.

This feeling… thispulltowards her. This fierce, unexpected need to keep her safe, to stand with her against anyone, even my own blood.

“Christopher?” she asks softly, turning to look at me. Her blue eyes search mine, full of questions I don’t know how to answer.

I step closer. The space between us shrinks. All I can smell is her. All I can see is her.

The carefully constructed walls around my emotions feel like they’re crumbling, turning to dust under the intensity of her gaze.

Words rise in my throat. Words I haven’t said to anyone. Words about how she’s changing everything. About how this started as business but has become… more.

So much more.

About how looking at her right now feels like the only thing that makes sense in a world built on lies and manipulation.