The Gold I Married

Chapter Fourteen

A man had moved in behind Anna… too close, too familiar, his hands settling at her waist like he belonged there. Anna didn't react, or maybe she didn't notice, and that made it worse, that she could be so careless with herself, so willing to be touched by anyone who reached for her. Victor pushed himself to his feet. At first he walked, then faster, then he was forcing his way through the crowd, ignoring the irritated looks thrown his way, the muttered complaints that died when they saw his face.

By the time he reached them, the man was leaning down, his mouth near Anna's ear, and Victor stepped in, inserting himself into the space between them like a blade. "Step away from her."

His voice wasn't loud, but it cut cleanly through the noise between them, a wire drawn tight.

The man glanced at him, unimpressed, his hands still resting on Anna's hips. "And you are?"

Victor didn't answer. He just held his gaze, steady and unmoving, letting something show in his eyes that shifted the mood from flirtation to threat. The man's grip loosened, just slightly, just enough.

"Didn't realize she came with security," he muttered.

"She didn't," Victor replied evenly. "But you're still leaving."

A pause. A silent standoff where the music seemed to recede and the air between them grew thin. Then the man exhaled, lifting his hands in mock surrender before stepping back. "Relax."

Victor didn't move until there was real distance between them, until the man had melted back into the crowd and the danger, however imagined, had passed. Only then did he turn to Anna.

"Miss Anna."

She blinked at him, unfocused, the alcohol making her eyes slow to find his face. "Victor? What are you doing?"

"We're leaving."

She frowned, swaying slightly, her body still moving to a rhythm that had nothing to do with the music. "What? No. I was having fun."

"It's five in the morning."

"And?"

"And we're done."

His tone firm and unyielding. She sighed, the sound of a woman conceding a battle she no longer had the energy to fight. "Fine."

Victor reached out, taking her wrist gently but firmly, guiding her through the crowd and toward the exit. Her body swayed with the music even as she was half-dragged away from it, her movements lazy, almost childlike in their carelessness.

"You're so bossy," she murmured. "You act like your father."

Victor rolled his eyes, adjusting his grip so she wouldn't fall, one arm steady around her waist. "And you're drunk."

"Obviously."

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The noise of the club faded behind them, replaced by the quiet hum of the city at its emptiest hour, the stillness before dawn when the world felt suspended between endings and beginnings. Anna’s phone buzzed, and she glanced at the screen, frowning. Her expression shifted, annoyance flickering across her face. She shoved it back into her bag without a word.

Victor noticed. Of course he did. There was always more with her, more than she let anyone see, more layers than she would ever allow him to peel back.

"Miss Anna.."

"Don't," she cut in, her voice colder now, the wall slamming back into place with an audible click. "Just take me home."

Victor paused, the question dying on his tongue. Then he nodded. "Alright."

When they reached the mansion, Victor turned to the valet and said, “Don’t mention this to anyone. Understood?”

“Yes young master” The valet said. Victor nodded, the acknowledgment grudging, and guided Anna toward the house. She was half-asleep now, mumbling something incoherent against his collar, her steps dragging on the marble stairs. He took her to his room because it was closer, because he didn't want to explain to the night staff why Mrs. Volkov was being carried to the master suite by the help, because some part of him wanted to keep this contained in a space that was his.

He removed her shoes, one heel strap stubborn, his fingers fumbling and pulled the blanket to her chin. She murmured something that might have been his name, or might have been someone else's, and turned onto her side, her hair spilling across the pillow in a dark fan.

Victor stood there longer than he needed to. Then he sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and went to shower. When he returned, clean and changed into sweatpants and a worn t-shirt, he took a spare blanket from the closet and stretched out on the couch. The cushions were too short, his feet hanging off the arm, but he pulled the blanket to his chest and stared at the ceiling, listening to Anna breathe in the dark.