My body had other ideas. Heat shot straight to my groin, and I had to clench my fists to keep from reaching for her. The professional mask I'd worn for eight years in this business felt like it was cracking under the pressure of wanting her this badly.
"You look absolutely ravishing—like a real queen," I heard myself say, the words torn from me despite every instinct screaming to maintain distance.
When I reached out to brush that strand of hair from her face, it was pure self-destruction. Electricity shot through my entire system when my fingers grazed her skin. She was warm, soft, everything I'd imagined and more. Her lips parted slightly, and for one insane moment, I considered throwing away my career, reputation, everything, just to taste her mouth.
The buzz of my phone saved us both from a mistake that would have changed everything.
Now, watching her in Frederick's arms on the dance floor, I felt that same dangerous loss of control threatening to consume me.
I moved further away, positioning myself in the shadow as they finally stepped off the dance floor and were only a few meters away from me. It was the perfect place to hear everything that was being said.
"I believe we will be seeing more of each other, Evangeline," he said, snatching two glasses of champagne from the waiter's tray and handing one to the princess. She looked relaxed and happy as the prick moved closer, invading her personal space. I wanted to yell at her to move away. When she didn't, I clenched my fists tighter.
"Hmm, I don't know. I'm busy with school, and I'm graduating in the summer, finally," she said, her eyes glowing. She stared at that guy like he was a blast from the past. I had to pull myself together. This was no business of mine. In several more weeks, I would be gone, and she would be someone else's problem.
"I'm not going anywhere this time, my sweetest, and we both know I'm the only person who your mother approves of," he continued, getting even fucking closer. I inhaled sharply as she didn't move away. She stared at him, smiling like he had said something significant.
When I heard that voice behind Evangeline earlier, every muscle in my body had gone rigid. Frederick Van Den Sen. I'd done my research on him weeks ago when she'd mentioned his name in the library—old money, diplomatic connections, the kind of polished aristocrat who'd never had to fight for anything in his life.
And he was looking at Evangeline as if she were a prize he intended to reclaim.
"It’s been a while Evangeline and you know that I always loved dancing with you."
The casual use of her first name, the presumptuous confidence in his voice, and the way he brushed her hand as if she was already his made my vision narrow to a dangerous point. My hand moved instinctively toward the concealed weapon at my side before I caught myself.
This wasn't a security threat. This was personal. And that made it infinitely more dangerous.
Every rational part of my mind screamed that this was exactly what she needed—someone of her own social class, someone who understood her world, someone who could give her the life she deserved. But the primitive, possessive part of me that had been growing stronger every day wanted to step between them and make it clear that she was under my protection.
Mine to guard.Mineto keep safe.Mine.
The thought was so fierce, so absolute, that it scared the hell out of me.
"It was just the dance, Fred. I don’t think anything will change between us. You're still running your business empire, and you're always traveling. Besides, at the end of the year, I will be back in Bellavista," she said and glanced around. Luckily, she didn't notice me standing close, but I felt she sensed my eyes on her. He moved his finger around a lock of her hair.
I studied Frederick with the intensity I'd used to assess any potential threat. He was tall, well-built, but soft. His handshake would be firm but brief—a politician's greeting rather than anything with actual strength behind it. Every thread of his expensive suit fit perfectly. Everything about him screamed privilege and entitlement.
But it was his eyes that set off alarm bells. Too confident, too calculating. He looked at Evangeline like a collector mightlook at a rare painting—with appreciation, yes, but also with the assumption of ownership. Like he'd already decided she belonged to him.
Either unconscious dominance or deliberate territorial marking was the reason for the way he positioned himself, angling his body to block her from my line of sight. Either way, it made me want to break his perfectly straight nose.
"I've been following your studies, your royal duties," he said, his voice carrying that particular tone men used when they wanted to sound charming but came across as possessive instead.
Following her studies, following her duties—the phrasing made my blood run cold. In my line of work, "following" someone had particularly dangerous connotations.
"Come on, can you feel this energy between us? I want us back together. We both know that you want me as much as I want you, my sweetest," he purred, and I nearly threw up in my mouth. My whole body tensed. I didn't want to believe that she would fall for this bullshit. That guy was an arrogant asshole.
"I'm not the same Evangeline as I was in the past; things have changed," she muttered, sounding melancholic and sad.
"I bet you still like it when I force you down on your knees, my sweetest. Let me show you what you have been missing. Let me take you back to my penthouse," he insisted, leaning inches away from her lips. I was ready to intervene, even if she wouldn't like it. There was no way she was leaving with that prick.
Every instinct I'd honed over years of combat and protection work was screaming at me to act. My hands clenched into fists so tight that my knuckles went white. The pen I'd been holding during our library confrontation would have snapped under this kind of pressure.
The muscle in my jaw jumped as I ground my teeth together, fighting the urge to step forward and physically removeFrederick's hand from where it hovered near Evangeline's waist. My breathing had gone shallow, controlled, the same pattern I used to steady myself before taking a tough shot.
But this wasn't a battlefield, and Frederick wasn't an enemy combatant. He was the son of a diplomatic ally, having a conversation with a princess at a charity gala. Perfectly innocent. Completely appropriate.
So why did every fiber of my being want to eliminate the threat?
