Chapter 124 – Zander POV
"Are you sure about this?" I ask—for what must be the hundredth time—as I lean against the bathroom doorway, watching him apply the finishing touches to his makeup.
Ivan doesn't even look at me. Just tilts his chin and expertly drags a brush beneath one eye with terrifying precision. "You've asked me that seven times. Are you trying to manifest doubt?"
"I'm trying to manifest staying home in sweatpants," I mutter.
It's the night of the annual Vale Foundation Charity Gala. A self-congratulatory affair hosted by my father's allies, attended by every status-clawing parasite in the city. The Browns will be there. So will half of my family. I had every intention of skipping.
But Ivan had other plans.
His reflection stares back at me, fierce and composed. "We are not staying home. Not now. Not after everything."
I exhale.
He's wearing that outfit. The one that hugs every curve and defies gender the way he defies gravity. All black. My beloved dislikes dull colors, so that's how you know he means business.
A sleeveless jumpsuit with sheer mesh panels, silver detailing wrapped like a harness over his torso and shoulder. He looks like something out of a dream—if the dream had teeth and perfect highlighter.
He turns, eyebrows lifted. "Now how do I look?"
I take a moment.
He knows exactly how he looks, the infuriating bastard. But he wants me to say it.
"Perfect," I say, my voice lower than I mean it to be. "You look perfect."
That earns me a smile. Not a soft one—no, this smile has steel in it. Challenge. Fire. It's the smile of a man walking into a den of wolves not to survive, but to remind them he's the apex predator.
"They think we're supposed to hide now," he says, twisting his engagement ring slowly on his finger.
"Even if we don't want to go to the stupid gala, we'll go because I won't have them thinking we didn't show up because of everything."
He steps forward, brushing past me, the scent of amber and defiance trailing in his wake—like he bottled rebellion and wore it as cologne.
I follow him out into the hall, grabbing my jacket and dragging a hand through my hair, still not entirely sure whether I want to fight the world or lock him in our bedroom and keep him there forever.
"You do realize this could cause more press, right?" I murmur, not because I'm worried—just to hear what he'll say.
He turns slightly, already halfway down the corridor, and throws me a look over his shoulder that could end careers. "Did you forget my profession? Zander, please. This much drama barely qualifies as foreplay."
Then he smirks. "Let's go, honey."
My lips twitch. I smile before I can stop myself.
I love him.
"Yessir."
I catch up with him in two long strides and place my hand gently on the small of his back—claiming and grounding both of us.
He doesn't flinch or pull away. He leans into the touch like it's natural, like we've always been like this. His heels click sharply down the marble floor, head held high, every inch the star they tried to bury.
And I?
I can't wait to marry him.
Or take off that jumpsuit.
Frankly, I'm doing either—or both—tonight. So the sooner we survive this gala, the sooner I get to unwrap my fiancé.
We step into the private elevator, and as the doors slide shut, Ivan leans against the mirror-paneled wall and eyes me with casual amusement.
"You've been staring for two full minutes," he murmurs. "Wanna keep that up or get it out of your system?"
"Who says it's not staying in my system?" I shoot back, loosening my tie. "You're lucky we're running late or that zipper wouldn't survive the ride down."
He laughs—low and throaty. "Promises, promises."
Outside, the black car is already waiting. Cameras flash from the sidewalk even before we exit the building. The press is camped out like vultures with VIP passes—despite the cease and desist letters, the threatened lawsuits, and the handful of journalists I've personally had removed from my company's property. They just keep coming.
I instinctively shift forward, a subtle move, placing myself between Ivan and the chaos. He notices, of course. He notices everything.
"You're trying to shield me from cameras?" he asks, arching an amused brow as he adjusts a silver cuff around his wrist.
"I'm allowed to want to protect you," I murmur.
He lifts his chin into the flurry of bulbs like he was born in a spotlight. "Now stop trying to play knight. You're my arm candy tonight, remember?"
Right. I sigh, stepping slightly behind him like a well-trained bodyguard-slash-boyfriend-slash-billionaire accessory.
The shouting intensifies as we approach the car.
"Ivan! Ivan, is it true you were—"
"Zander, do you support—"
"Do you regret the engagement—"
My scowl deepens as another camera flashes directly into my face, white-hot and invasive. Ivan, of course, is smiling. He raises one hand in a wave, the flash catching the shine of his engagement ring like a final insult to them all.
He climbs into the car with grace, folds one leg over the other, and waits.
I follow.
The door shuts. The flash dies.
Peace.
Until Ivan leans in, eyes narrowing with mischief. "Oh dear," he says dramatically, inspecting me as if I'm a delicate little thing. "Did the lights hurt your eyes?"
"I'm fine," I start to say—but then pause.
His fingers brush against the bridge of my nose, soft and featherlight, like he's checking me for wounds. His face is close. Too close.
You know what?
I lean back slightly, lower my lashes, and sigh like I'm the one with the tragic backstory. "Maybe… a little."
Ivan pouts instantly, hand cupping my cheek. "My poor darling," he whispers. "Where does it hurt?"
And that's my cue.
I reach for his hand with mine, guiding it lower. "Right here," I murmur, dragging his palm down over my chest, then slowly over my abs. "Might need… a full-body inspection."