CHAPTER 62
The moment Ryle’s immense form materialized at her side, inserting itself between her paralyzed terror and the chilling presence of Valerius, Lauren felt a profound, destabilizing wave of relief.
The red mist of rage receded instantly, replaced by the acute, primal sensation of safety. The sound of his voice—even in its ridiculously stilted, artificial “darling” persona—was the sudden, solid reality she desperately needed.
She instinctively reacted to the protective barrier he formed. Her hand, which had been clutching his arm rigidly, slid down to his lower back, her fingers gripping the expensive tuxedo fabric tightly, silently begging him not to move.
Lauren knew that she needed Ryle’s weight, his authority, and the undeniable fact that she was not alone. For the first
