The music throbbed through the club, but at the VIP table, tension drowned every sound. Kelvin staggered toward them, a glass dangling carelessly from his hand, his face flushed from alcohol.
"Kelvin, what do you want this time?" Kimberly's voice cut sharp and cold.
"Nothing…" he slurred, dropping into the seat beside her, far too close. "I just came to say hi to my wife. Why? Is that so bad?"
Kimberly forced a strained smile, trying not to cause a public scene. "No… not at all. But you've had too much to drink. I'll call your driver to take you home."
Kelvin shook his head violently. "No, I'm not leaving." His hand snaked toward her waist, pulling her roughly. He leaned in, his lips brushing her neck.
"Stop it, Kelvin." Kimberly shoved him back, disgust flashing in her eyes.
He grinned wickedly. "Don't play hard to get, sweetheart. You're mine." His grip tightened, his fingers digging into her waist.
The sound of a sharp crack echoed as Kimberly's palm struck across his cheek. Gasps from nearby tables followed, but Kelvin only grew more aggressive.
"You'll regret that," he growled, pinning her against the chair, his lips crushing against her skin.
"Get off her!" Natasha screamed, trying to pull him back. But Kelvin's drunken strength overpowered her. With one shove, he sent her sprawling to the floor. She hit her tailbone with a cry of pain.
"Kelvin, stop this nonsense!" Kimberly fought with everything she had, nails scratching at his arms, pushing desperately. But he tore at her dress, fabric ripping, revealing her cleavage as he forced his mouth against her neck.
And then—he was gone.
A powerful force had ripped him backward. Roy.
The usually calm bodyguard's face was twisted with rage. His fists crashed into Kelvin's jaw, over and over, each blow heavier than the last. The sound of knuckles against flesh filled the room, drowning even the pounding music. It wasn't just protection—it was fury, as if someone had violated something sacred to him.
"Roy, please stop!" Kimberly's trembling voice cut through the chaos. She threw herself between them, grabbing his arm. Her touch anchored him.
Breathing hard, chest heaving, Roy froze. His eyes—dark, stormy moments ago—softened as they locked onto hers. He gently pulled her closer, his voice low, thick with concern. "Are you okay?"
A single tear rolled down Kimberly's cheek. She nodded faintly.
"Let's leave here before the police come," Natasha urged, already scanning the room nervously.
Without another word, Roy scooped Kimberly into his arms, carrying her bridal-style past the stunned crowd. Natasha hurried behind.
At the mansion, Roy laid Kimberly gently in the car's seat, covering her bare shoulders with his suit jacket. His silence spoke louder than any words. When they arrived, he carried her again despite her weak protest.
"I can walk, you know," Kimberly murmured, embarrassed.
"Come on, girl. Let him take care of you," Natasha teased with a tired smile.
Roy said nothing, simply carrying her upstairs and placing her carefully on her bed before stepping out to give the cousins privacy.
"Please, I'm not ready for your teasing," Kimberly groaned.
"Oh, I can't help it," Natasha grinned. "Do you know how sweet that was? Girl, I wish it were me. I'd dream for a week straight after being carried like that. And did you see the way he fought for you? Like they touched something precious to him."
Kimberly rolled her eyes, though a blush crept onto her cheeks. "He was just doing his job."
"Job or not, he looked at you with care," Natasha said softly. "Thank God he was there. I don't even want to think about what that idiot would've done." She rubbed her sore hip with a wince. "Ugh. I need to sign up for defense classes, because my butt still hurts."
They both laughed, their tension easing until Kimberly drifted into sleep. Natasha kissed her cousin's forehead, then quietly left the room.
Moments later, Roy slipped back inside. His gaze swept the room, checking every shadow like a silent guardian. He moved closer to the bed, watching Kimberly's restless sleep. Her brows were furrowed, her breathing uneven.
For a moment, his stoic mask cracked. He brushed a strand of hair gently from her face. She stirred, her hand instinctively reaching out, catching his.
Even in sleep, she clung to him.
Roy lowered himself into the chair beside her bed, her hand still in his. His head rested back, exhaustion finally overtaking him. And there, side by side in silence, protector and heiress slipped into uneasy sleep, unaware of the storm tomorrow would bring.