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The colors swirl around me like a kaleidoscope as I step into the bustling event space. My heart races with excitement, and the widest smile breaks out as I take in the vibrant chaos of the fashion show. The air thrums with energy, filled with the chatter of attendees and the click-clack of designer heels on the polished floor.

My eyes widen as I spot the host, resplendent in the very outfit I designed—the one Denis modeled. A mischievous thought pops into my head, and I fish out my phone, giggling to myself.

"Oh, Denis is going to love this," I murmur, hitting record. "Hey, Mr. Broody! Look who's wearing your outfit!" I pan the camera across the room, zooming in on the host. "Bet you wish you were here to see it in person, huh?"

I end the recording, my fingers flying over the screen as I attach it to a message. Just as I'm about to hit send, I hesitate. The memories of our previous argument about the external investor come to mind. It’s been a week since though, and he hasn’t said a word about it again. I shake my head, pushing away the doubts. No, Denis loves to cheer me on. That was just a one-off thing, and clearly, the fact that he hasn’t brought it up again means he trusts me to make my own decisions. Besides, I can't resist sharing this moment with him since he’s the one who supported me and got me here.

The message whooshes away, and I tuck my phone back into my clutch, ready to mingle. But before I can take two steps, it buzzes insistently. Surprised, I fish it out again, my eyebrows shooting up as I see Denis's name on the screen.

"That was fast," I mutter, swiping to read his response. My jaw drops as I process his words. "No way!"

I read the message again, my heart doing a little flip. Denis is coming here? To the event? I thought he was working late tonight! A giddy laugh escapes me, earning a few curious glances from nearby attendees. I don't care—I'm too excited by this unexpected turn of events.

"Oh, this is going to be fun," I say to myself, a new spark of mischief lighting up my eyes. I scan the crowd, wondering how long it will take him to arrive. Knowing Denis, he'll find a way to get here quickly.

Giddy with joy at how perfect this evening is turning out, I find us two seats. I’m not sure if Denis will arrive on time, but I save him one anyway. The show begins, and I’m literally at the edge of my seat, watching the models strut down in clothes so gorgeous, I can only dream of creating something like that.

***

The show ends and Denis still isn’t here. Disappointment courses over me, but I head to the bar in search of a drink. I take my champagne and turn around to survey the scene.

Suddenly, the crowd parts like the Red Sea, and there he is. Denis's tall, muscled frame cuts through the throng with effortless grace, his presence commanding attention. My heart skips a beat as our eyes lock, and I can't help the wide grin that spreads across my face.

"Well, well, if it isn't my favorite model," I call out teasingly as he approaches. "Fancy seeing you here, Mr. Zolotov. You missed the show."

Denis's lips quirk up in that enigmatic half-smile of his. "I couldn't resist the invitation, Miss Orlov. Especially not when delivered with such… enthusiasm. Besides, I’m not here for the show."

The way he looks at me, intentions clear, makes a blush creep up my cheeks, but I push past it. "Oh, you thought that was an invitation, did you?” I tease with a wink. “And here I thought you were just dying to see your outfit on someone else."

He leans in close, his voice low and playful. "Trust me, it looks far better on me…or off.”

My breath catches, and I struggle to come up with a witty response. He just muddles my thoughts all over the place. Instead, I grab his hand, tugging him toward the center of the event. "Come on, you smooth talker. Let me give you the grand tour."

As we weave through the crowd, I can't help but notice how Denis's eyes never stray far from me. It's thrilling, unnerving, and perfect—like being caught in the gaze of a particularly attentive predator. But there's a softness there too, hidden beneath the intensity.

"Oh, you have to try these!" I exclaim, snagging a pair of colorful cocktails from a passing waiter. I hand one to Denis, our fingers brushing. "They're called 'Sunset Dreams.' Fitting for a night like this, don't you think?"

Denis takes a sip, his brow furrowing slightly. "Interesting," he says diplomatically.

I laugh, the sound bright and carefree. "That bad, huh? Here, I'll finish yours too."

As I reach for his glass, Denis's hand gently catches my wrist. "Careful, Sweetheart. The night is young."

I stick my tongue out at him. "Party pooper.”

But he’s right. I don’t want to get too drunk. I put one glass aside.

We continue our circuit of the event, making conversation with strangers and acquaintances who have dropped by my store. Denis listens attentively, occasionally offering a wry comment or asking a thoughtful question. It's strange how comfortable I feel around him. Tonight, he’s a silent supporter, wanting me to take the limelight and talk about my work as much as possible.

"You know," I say, pausing to admire a particularly striking gown, "Jokes aside, I never would have pegged you for a fashion enthusiast. What made you decide to come tonight?"

For a moment, I swear I see something vulnerable flicker in those gray-green eyes. But then it's gone, replaced by that familiar enigmatic expression. "Let's just say I had a very compelling reason," he murmurs, his gaze fixed firmly on me.

My heart races in my chest at Denis's words, but before I can respond, I notice his demeanor shift abruptly. His jaw tightens, and his eyes narrow dangerously as he scans the crowd. The change is so sudden it's like watching storm clouds roll in over a clear sky.

"Denis?" I ask, tugging gently on his sleeve. "What's wrong?"

He doesn't answer immediately, and I follow his gaze, trying to spot what's caught his attention. My stubborn streak kicks in, and I press further. "Come on, spill. You look like you've seen a ghost."

Denis's voice is low and tense when he finally speaks. "Not a ghost, Natalia. Something far more dangerous."

"Dangerous?" I echo, my curiosity piqued despite the seriousness in his tone. "What do you mean?"

He leans in close, his breath warm against my ear. "See those men by the bar? In the dark suits?"

I crane my neck, spotting a group of stern-faced men in impeccably tailored outfits. "Yeah, what about them?"

"They're part of a rival organization, the ones whose imprisoned workers we rescued," Denis explains, his voice barely above a whisper. "Their presence here is… unexpected. And concerning."

My eyes widen as the implications sink in. "Wait, you mean like… rival Bratva?" The words tumble out before I can stop them.

Denis's grip on my arm tightens slightly. "I need you to listen carefully, Natalia. We're in danger. Those men? They'd love nothing more than to hurt us tonight. They’re not here without reason."

A shiver runs down my spine, but I steel myself, meeting Denis's intense gaze. "Okay," I say, surprised by the steadiness in my own voice. "What do we do?"

Denis's hand finds the small of my back, guiding me through the crowded event space. "We need to leave. Now," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down my spine.

I nod, trying to match his casual stride as we weave quickly between chattering guests. "Did you call the car?" I ask, my eyes darting around the room.

"No time. They’re parked ten minutes away. This venue had no parking. We’re going to seek safety on foot," Denis replies, his fingers pressing more firmly against my back. "Act natural, but keep moving."

My heart pounds as I force a smile, nodding to a few familiar faces we pass. "This is my natural 'fleeing from danger' walk," I quip, aiming for lightness despite the tension coiling in my stomach.

A ghost of a smile flickers across Denis's face. "You're doing great, Firecracker," he reassures me, using the pet name that always makes my insides melt.

We're halfway to the exit when I feel Denis stiffen beside me. "Don't look back," he warns, increasing our pace. "They've spotted us trying to leave."

Adrenaline surges through me as we burst through the doors onto the busy street. Denis's hand clasps mine, firm and reassuring. "Stay close," he orders, pulling me into a run.

We dash down the sidewalk, weaving between startled pedestrians. My shorter legs struggle to keep up with Denis's long strides, but fear propels me forward. "Where are we going?" I gasp, my lungs burning.

"Somewhere safe," Denis replies tersely, yanking me around a sharp corner. The sound of heavy footsteps behind us grows louder.

My heart hammers against my ribs as we dodge past a street vendor, nearly upending a cart of flowers. "Sorry!" I call out instinctively, earning a squeeze from Denis's hand.

"Run faster," he grunts, pulling me into a narrow alley. The brick walls on either side of us blur as we race through, emerging onto another bustling street.

I chance a glance over my shoulder, catching sight of our pursuers. Their dark suits stand out ominously against the colorful crowd. "They're still coming," I pant, gripping Denis's hand tighter.

My legs burn with exertion, but I grit my teeth and push harder. I won't be the reason we get caught. "I can keep up," I assure Denis, matching his pace stride for stride. My curvy figure might not scream 'athlete,' but there's a fierce determination coursing through my veins.

"That's my girl," Denis murmurs, his gray-green eyes flashing with pride as we navigate the chaotic streets.

We dash across a busy intersection, horns blaring as cars screech to a halt. "Sorry!" I can't help but yell, my ingrained politeness battling with our dire situation.

Denis tugs me down another alley, this one darker and narrower. "In here," he whispers urgently, pulling me through a hidden doorway.

We tumble into a dimly lit space, the musty smell of disuse filling my nose. Denis quickly shuts and bolts the door behind us. For a moment, the only sound is our ragged breathing.

"Where are we?" I ask between gasps, my hands on my knees as I try to catch my breath.

"Old safehouse. We’ve got them sprinkled across the city," Denis replies, his tall frame still tense as he listens for any signs of pursuit. "We should be okay here for now."

As the adrenaline begins to ebb, relief washes over me in waves. I sink to the floor, my back against the wall. "That was… intense," I manage, a slightly hysterical giggle escaping my lips.

Denis crouches beside me, his large hand cupping my cheek. "You did well, Natalia. Are you hurt?"

I shake my head, leaning into his touch. "Just winded. And maybe in need of a really long bubble bath."

A ghost of a smile touches Denis's lips, softening his usually enigmatic expression. "I think that can be arranged, once we're truly in the clear."

As I look up at Denis, the dim light catches the flecks of green in his gray eyes, but there's something else there too—a storm of emotions I've come to recognize as him taking responsibility for what’s not his. His jaw is clenched tight, and his broad shoulders are rigid with tension.

"Denis?" I whisper, my brow furrowing with concern. "What's wrong?"

He runs a hand through his black hair, messing it up in a way that would be adorable if not for the distress etched across his face. "I shouldn't have told the cars to park so far off," he mutters, more to himself than to me. "It was reckless. Dangerous. You could have been hurt, or worse."

I reach out, placing my hand on his arm. "Hey, I'm okay. We both are."

"But you might not have been!" His voice rises, thick with an emotion I can't quite place. "Do you understand what could have happened if they'd caught us? If they'd gotten their hands on you?"

Suddenly, it hits me. The anger in his voice isn't directed at the rivals—it's masking fear. Deep, gut-wrenching fear. For me.

My heart swells with affection. I push myself to my feet, ignoring the protest of my tired muscles, and stand directly in front of him.

"Denis Zolotov," I say, my voice soft but firm. "Look at me."

He meets my gaze, those stormy eyes locking with mine.

"I'm here. I'm safe. And do you know why? Because of you." I take his large hands in my smaller ones, squeezing gently. "You protected me. You got us out of there.”

A hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

I reach out and take his hand. “So no more brooding, okay? Don’t think of the could-haves.”

He nods and his hands envelop mine, warm and calloused. I feel the tension slowly ebb from his body, replaced by something softer. Denis pulls me closer, and I find myself nestled against his broad chest, my ear pressed to his steadily beating heart.