21. If youre fond of that hand, I suggest you remove it.
My cheeks were flushed, nerves still buzzing from everything that had happened minutes ago, as Daxton guided me through the crowd. His hand was securely wrapped around mine as he fearlessly led me across the ballroom.
I was hyperaware of all the eyes on me. The Daxton Anderson walking hand-in-hand with a girl was sure to attract the attention of every single person there.
I could barely lift my gaze off the floor, almost drowning in the heavy stares thrown my way.
Butterflies fluttered around in my stomach, a product of both nervousness and blazing desire.
We were almost halfway to the exit when Daxton's secretary stepped in our way. She glanced at our held hands momentarily before shifting her gaze upwards toward Daxton. As if she hadn't seen anything.
"Mr. Anderson, sorry to interrupt. Mr. Vincent Brown is here. He wants a word with you."
I turned to look at Daxton, watching the way his eyebrows met in the centre.
"Who?"
"If you recall, he showed up at your company too..." she trailed off.
Daxton's mouth formed an O before he sighed, almost in exasperation. "I'm heading home, Ms. Miller. Tell him to schedule an appointment if what he has to say is really so important."
"Uh, he's very insistent, sir." She replied.
A look of annoyance flashed over Daxton's face.
I cleared my throat. "I actually have to use the bathroom, so why don't you go ahead?"
He looked my way for a moment before begrudgingly releasing my hand. "Okay. I'll wait for you by the exit."
I nodded in agreement before stepping away from him.
As I moved towards the bathroom, I realised how the butterflies in my stomach were still soaring. The thrill of having my first kiss, and that too with Daxton Anderson, swirled like an escalating high that washed over every sense of reason and rationality I had.
I felt like an enthusiastic teenager, high on emotions and hormones.
In the bathroom, I stood before before the mirror, staring at my reflection. Pink cheeks. Wide, sparkling eyes. As if my reflection itself could not believe that the man I had quietly and distantly admired through screens for years, had kissed me today.
And just with that, he had completely ruined other men for me.
After washing my face with cold water and drying off, I stepped out into the quiet of the corridor— far from the gleaming, bustling ballroom.
My heels echoed against the marble as I walked back towards the ballroom, but before I made the final turn, someone stepped in my way—almost bumping into me.
I halted abruptly, stumbling in my high heeled shoes, but the man in front of me steadied me with his hands on my arms.
I blinked, caught by surprise, but before I could react, his hands slowly slithered down my bare arms as if he had every right in the world to do so.
"Careful there, sweetheart." He smirked.
I glared at him, pushing him away with intended force.
He stumbled backwards half surprised, half amused. Then he snorted, shaking his head. "You should apologise, you know."
"Why would I apologise? You were the one not looking where you were going." I retorted, walking around him to go about my way.
He grabbed my wrist from behind, abruptly stopping me. "You think you're going to show me some nasty attitude, and I'll let you walk away?"
I glared at him, trying to pull my hand out of his hold. "Let me go."
He tilted his head to the side, mockingly. "You should have just apologised like a normal person. Now I'll have to make you."
I frowned, struggling to release myself.
"If you're fond of that hand, I suggest you remove it. Now." Someone spoke, voice cold and menacing.
I looked up, relief washing over me when I realised it was Daxton. However, the warmth I'd seen in his eyes earlier was gone, replaced by a terrifying, obsidian void. He looked less like a man and more like a predator deciding exactly where to strike.
The effortless menace on his face even sent a shiver down my spine.
The man dropped my wrist immediately.
Daxton didn't wait for him to move. In one fluid, terrifyingly fast motion, he stepped forward, his hand catching the man's throat and forcing him backward against the wall.
The sound of the impact echoed through the silence of the corridor.
"Daxton—" I said softly, but he held a hand up, and the words died in my throat instantly.
I stood, eyes wide, realising this was the first time I was seeing him so terrifyingly angry. I'd believed even his anger held a quiet calm that carried precision. He was the kind of man who didn't need to shout to have his way.
But this version of him was a man who seemed like he would commit murder without a second thought.
"I don't think you heard me," Daxton said, his voice a low and dangerously dark sound. He increased the pressure, his knuckles white. "You touched someone who doesn't belong to you. You made her uncomfortable. In my world, that is a debt that gets paid in blood."
My breath caught in my lungs.
"I—I didn't know," the man choked out, his hands clawing at Daxton's iron wrist. "I was just... I'm sorry—"
"Sorry doesn't fix the fact that your hands were on her skin." Daxton hissed.
With a sudden, violent shove, he forced the man downward.
The stranger's knees hit the cold marble floor with a sickening crack.
"Down," Daxton commanded, towering over him.
The sheer power radiating off him was enough to erupt goosebumps all over my skin.
"You're going to look at her, and you're going to beg for her forgiveness.
And you're going to make me believe you mean it, or I'll ensure that you're unable to walk out of here on your feet. Do you understand?"
The man was trembling now, his pride completely dismantled. He looked up at me, his eyes wide with genuine terror. "Please... I'm so sorry. I didn't mean any harm. Please, forgive me."
I looked from the man on his knees to Daxton, completely stunned and speechless.
Daxton was watching me, his jaw tight, his chest heaving with a restrained violence. He was waiting for my signal—waiting to see if the apology was enough for me, or if he should take it further.
"That's enough, Daxton," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. I stepped toward him, laying a hand on his arm. His muscles were like granite beneath the tuxedo sleeve. "Let him go."
Daxton's gaze flickered to my hand on his arm, then back to the man. For a second, I thought he might ignore me. The darkness in his eyes was so deep it felt like it could swallow the whole place.
"Get out," Daxton spat, his voice vibrating with a threat that didn't need to be spoken. "If I see you near her again... you won't live to see another day. I promise."
I gulped.
The man didn't need to be told twice. He scrambled to his feet and vanished into the ballroom, stumbling over his own feet in his haste to escape.
Daxton turned to me, the lethal look still partially in place. He reached out, his hands trembling slightly as he cupped my face, his thumbs stroking over my cheeks as if checking for damage.
"Are you okay?" He rasped. "Did he hurt you, Ayra?"
A staggered breath left my mouth as I shook my head. "No, I'm okay... thank you."
He uttered a sigh of relief before pulling me into his arms. Warmth and the smell of his perfume engulfed me like a cloud of safety. Slumping into his embrace, I noticed the erratic beat of his heart against my chest.
"You're coming with me, Ayra. Right now. I can't fathom the thought of somebody hurting you." He whispered, voice shaking.
My heartbeat sped up as I realised that the most powerful man here was shaking because the thought of someone hurting me had scared him.
I couldn't even think of arguing. Not when I realized that the only place I felt truly safe was in the arms of the man who had just brought another to his knees for me.