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YULIAN

“You can’t have her. She’s mine. ”

After I speak those words, I realize three things at once.

One: the room has gone silent. Dead silent. All whispers have ceased, every scandalized gasp fizzling out like an old soda can. Even the bride has stopped hyperventilating.

Two: Mia’s fallen silent, too.

It’s concerning. This filterless woman, who hasn’t stopped sassing me all night long— now, she decides to be quiet? It makes me wonder just who the hell this guy is to her.

And why she looks so damn terrified of him.

Three: my business deal just went out the fucking window.

Brad Baldwin. Around five years ago, the smarmy piece of shit inherited Baldwin Construction, his father’s multinational conglomerate.

Ever since, he’s been swimming in money, luxury, and lucrative requalification deals.

Deals I’d wanted to get into badly enough that I chose to willingly suffer through a whole night of socializing at his wedding.

A wedding that is clearly no longer happening.

Brad smirks, stepping towards Mia again. As if he already owns her. As if I’m just some poor schmuck who hasn’t gotten the memo yet.

“Yours?” He sneers. “I’m afraid that’s not possible. You see, she belongs to me.”

“No,” Mia tries to protest, but it comes out broken, brittle. “I’m not yours.”

“But you are.” His lips curl, revealing a row of white, perfect teeth. His left canine is slightly crooked, like a fang grown too sharp. “I’ve been searching everywhere for you. To think this is where I’d finally find you. Couldn’t stay away, could you, sweet thing?”

Behind me, Mia’s body starts shaking. I can feel her hand crushing mine, holding on for dear life. As if begging me not to let her go.

It makes dark fury bubble up inside me.

“That’s okay,” Brad croons. “I knew you’d come home eventually. Shoulda known you’d wait until the last second to make an entrance. You always did love your drama.”

I expect Mia to lash out. To tell him to go fuck himself, threaten to shove a syringe up his ass and fill him up like a balloon.

The woman I met in Brownsville, the one who got my car towed and didn’t show an ounce of remorse afterwards—she would have done that and more.

But this one isn’t doing anything.

I turn, incredulous, and see her staring at the floor. She’s biting her lip hard enough to draw blood, and still, she isn’t saying a damn thing.

React, I want to roar. For fuck’s sake, just say something.

Just then, Brad lifts a hand. A single hand, headed straight for Mia’s cheek.

And Mia doesn’t move.

Like she can’t get her body to do it. Like she’s too scared to.

So I do it for her.

I snatch Brad’s hand out of the air. My fingers clench around his wrist, hard . Any harder, and they’d be crushing his bones like a little bird’s.

To his credit, Brad doesn’t cry out. Just emits a quiet grunt and grimaces. “Get off me.”

“No. I don’t think I will.”

“This doesn’t concern you,” Brad spits. “She’s mine. She always has been.”

The whole room is watching us with bated breath. As if they’re wondering who’ll throw the first punch. Whose blood will spill first, hm?

Their curious eyes drift to Mia, puzzled, almost asking, Why her? What’s so good about her?

I don’t give a shit. Let them look. No one’s taking her away.

She belongs to me.

The flash of possessiveness takes me by surprise, but I don’t dwell on it. My whole focus is on Brad—on keeping his filthy hand away from her.

Tonight, I paid Mia to be my date. I put her in that dress, brought her here on my arm, and taught the guy flirting with her at the bar a lesson in manners.

I taught everyone what happens when you touch what’s mine.

And Mia Winters is mine. Until the sun rises, she is mine.

Certainly not Brad fucking Baldwin’s.

Brad’s expression turns vicious, cruel. It falters between a grin and a snarl, like a feral dog with a bone. “I’ll say it one more time: that girl isn’t yours. So get the fuck off me.”

His voice is dripping with entitlement. I catch Mia flinching at his words, her body shaking harder against mine.

Don’t let go, her blue eyes beg me. Please, whatever you do, just don’t let him touch me.

I decide then and there that I won’t.

Not ever.

“You’re mistaken, Mr. Baldwin.” My grip tightens, just enough to draw another wince out of Brad. I’m not looking to break bones yet, but that can change. “Mia Winters is with me now.”

“ Mia Winters? ” Brad barks out a laugh. “So that’s what you went with? Your great-grandmother’s maiden fucking name? I should have known you’d do something like that. You’ve always been sentimental.”

Mia’s face has gone pale now. She looks like she could faint at any time. Like she’s staying upright by sheer force of will.

I let Brad’s wrist go and shove him off. If Mia’s going to faint, I need to be able to catch her.

Brad massages his wrist. “You have no idea who she is, do you?” he laughs, mocking and bitter. “Do you even know her real name? What she’s done?”

“I don’t need to,” I say. “I know enough.”

“No, you don’t. Otherwise, you’d know that she belongs to me.” His leery eyes fix on Mia. “And I don’t share.”

“What a coincidence,” I growl. “Neither do I.”

The tension could be cut with a butcher knife. A new murmur rises through the crowd. Now that the spell’s broken, the guests seem to have a lot to say about the recent developments.

They thought they were getting a wedding, after all. The side of the bride is furious, every single one of them.

But they’re also afraid. Afraid to displease their illustrious host, to fall out of his good graces.

So most of them are directing their angry glares at Mia instead.

The powerless one, the inoffensive one. The one who’s to blame for nothing, but cannot hurt them. The easy fucking target.

These people make me sick.

I tuck her closer to me, shielding her from the crowd’s rage.

Then, finally, the bride snaps out of it.

“ Her? ” She picks up her skirts and stalks this way, her face a mask of fury. “Are you fucking serious, Bradley?”

“Shut up, Connie. I don’t want to play with you anymore.”

He tosses his arm back casually, making the girl stumble. It’s such a cruel, dismissive gesture, I can feel Mia flinching hard behind me. Her hand shoots forward out of reflex, trying to catch the bride’s elbow even though she’s too far away.

A bridesmaid darts forward, saving Connie from a horrible fall. Brad doesn’t even notice. He’s too focused on Mia.

It makes me disgusted to see it. How can anyone treat their woman like this? Their bride, the person they supposedly love?

And even if there’s no love there—even if this is just a merging of fortunes—how the hell can you look yourself in the mirror after acting like this?

Behind me, Mia doesn’t seem surprised. I find myself wondering even more about their history, about whatever ties her to Brad.

Was she his bride, too, once?

Was she wearing white and stepping up an altar to marry him?

Was she, too, discarded like she was nothing?

I don’t get to demand those answers. I don’t get to do anything at all.

Because one second later, bullets start flying.