Chapter 7 - Into the Lion’s Den
Marcus’s fingers tightened around my wrist with enough force to bruise. The jovial, glittering atmosphere of the opera house ballroom suddenly felt miles away, replaced by the suffocating chill of a cornered predator realizing he’s been outplayed.
"Ms. Cole, isn't it?" Marcus sneered, his breath smelling faintly of expensive scotch. "Arthur Bennett’s star forensic accountant. I hear you've been spending a lot of time reading bedtime stories in my family's financial ledgers."
"Let go of my arm, Mr. Vance," I said, forcing my voice to remain cold, level, and entirely devoid of fear. I tilted my chin up, channeling every ounce of the fierce composure I had learned standing across from Damon Vale. "Assaulting an independent auditor in the middle of a public charity gala is a rather bold career move, even for a desperate man."
Marcus let out a harsh, humorless laugh, his grip tightening further. "You think you're very smart, don't you? You and Damon think you can waltz in here, dig through accounts that don't belong to you, and walk away clean. But you missed something, Ms. Cole. The data on those servers isn't just encrypted—it's rigged. And the moment your little firm tries to file that report on Monday morning, the entire system detonates."
Before I could fire back a sharp retort, a massive shadow fell over us.
The air in the immediate vicinity dropped ten degrees. The casual murmurs of nearby guests abruptly died down as people instinctively stepped backward, clearing a wide circle around us.
"Let her go, Marcus," Damon’s voice cut through the ballroom like a razor blade—quiet, dead, and utterly terrifying.
Marcus blinked, startled by the sudden intrusion. He turned his head to find Damon standing right beside him, towering a full head taller, his dark eyes locked onto Marcus’s hand gripping my wrist with a gaze so lethal it could stop a heart.
"This is a private conversation, Damon," Marcus scoffed, though a bead of nervous sweat slipped down his temple. "Just reminding the little auditor about professional boundaries."
"You are touching my auditor," Damon said, every single word clipped, precise, and laced with suppressed violence. "And you are standing on my property. Remove your hand before I remove it for you."
The threat hung in the air, thick and undeniable. For three agonizing seconds, Marcus weighed his options, his face flushing a furious, mottled red. Finally, with a snarl of disgust, Marcus jerked his hand away, shoving past us into the crowd without another word.
Damon didn't look at him leave. His dark eyes immediately dropped to my wrist, where faint red marks marred my skin. His jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek.
"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice losing its icy facade, replaced by a raw, simmering protectiveness that made my breath catch in my throat.
"I'm fine," I whispered, rubbing my wrist gently. "And more importantly... I got the glass."
I subtly cracked open my evening clutch, revealing the crystal flute wrapped securely inside the linen napkin.
Damon stared at it, a slow, breathtaking smile breaking across his stern features. He reached out, gently wrapping his large, warm hand over mine, his thumb softly tracing my knuckles.
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"You are utterly fearless, Hannah Cole," he murmured, his face dangerously close to mine. "Do you have any idea how much trouble you're going to get me—and yourself—into before this night is over?"
"Then we better make sure we win," I replied, looking straight into his dark eyes.
