*Loveth's POV*
I could feel the weight of the room before I even made it to the center. Everyone at this gala was playing a part—flashing smiles, clinking glasses, name-dropping like confetti. It was more than elegance; it was strategy.
Ethan moved beside me like he'd been born into this. Calm. Controlled. Dangerous in a way I wasn't sure I hated.
I sipped my drink slowly, scanning the faces. People were watching me. Judging. Whispering.
That same woman in green—Veronica, I learned—stood across the hall, her stare slicing through the crowd and landing directly on me like a target. Her expression didn't shift. She didn't need to speak. The message was loud enough: *You're not ready.*
And that made something inside me click.
I wasn't going to be the quiet girl from a hair salon.
Not tonight.
Not anymore.
When I turned back, Ethan was watching me.
"What?" I asked, keeping my tone light.
"You're adjusting quickly," he said, eyes flickering with something unreadable.
"Should I be flattered or scared?"
"Both," he replied.
---
*Ethan's POV*
She didn't flinch.
That's what struck me most about Loveth tonight. She walked into a hall full of power, ego, and unspoken rules—and didn't crumble.
But that made her more of a target. Veronica didn't take well to competition, especially not when it came wrapped in quiet beauty and quiet fire.
I didn't want Loveth involved in this world for too long. She was too honest, too raw. But now she was here—and pretending she didn't belong would only make her a casualty.
So I stood close. Not too obvious. Not too distant.
Protecting her without making it look like I had to.
Because once you show weakness in this crowd…
They eat you alive.
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