The hallway outside the ballroom was quieter, lined with gilded mirrors and elegant sconces casting a soft golden glow across the marble floor. She spotted the women's restroom at the end of the corridor and exhaled, already loosening her breath.
She pushed the door open and stepped inside, pressing her back to the door for a second, just breathing. She didn't want to cry. Didn't want to let the weight of this night dig into her bones — not the attention, not the strangers, and especially not him.
She turned to face the mirror, her reflection almost unrecognizable. Her dress was perfect, hair smooth, makeup intact… but her eyes were wide. Shaken.
Just breathe, Emily. Five seconds in. Five out.
The bathroom door opened behind her.
Her heart stuttered.
She turned, expecting another woman.
It wasn't.
It was Gavin.
Her mouth opened in shock. "What are you doing? This is the ladies'—"
Before she could finish, he closed the door behind him.
And locked it.
That sound — that soft, final click — sent a bolt of fear straight through her spine.
He took a step closer. Then another.
"I just wanted a moment," he said, too smoothly. "You left so suddenly."
"Get out," she said quickly, stepping back. "Right now."
But he kept coming.
"You didn't have to run off," he murmured, voice dipping lower. "You're different from the others. Classy. A little shy. I like that."
She backed into the wall, heart hammering, eyes darting toward the sink. There was nowhere to go.
He reached out and touched her shoulder — a firm, possessive touch that made her flinch.
And then he pressed her back against the wall.
Her hands pushed at his chest. "Don't."
But he didn't let go.
He leaned in closer. "Don't be like that—"
The door slammed open with a force that made the wall shudder.
And Damian Walker stepped in.
There was nothing cold or elegant about him now.
He didn't ask questions.
He didn't speak.
He just moved.
One second, Gavin's hand was on her.
The next, he was yanked back by his collar and slammed against the marble countertop so hard the sound echoed.
Damian's voice was low and vicious. "You touched her."
Gavin stumbled, wide-eyed. "I—I didn't—"
Damian shoved him again. "She told you no. And you touched her."
Emily stood frozen, shaking. Her breath hitched. She couldn't move. Couldn't speak.
Everything had happened too fast.
She saw Damian's fists clench.
Then relax.
Then clench again.
"Get out," he hissed.
"I swear, man, I didn't mean—"
"Now." Damian's tone cracked like thunder.
Gavin left — scrambling, humiliated, one hand on his shoulder, his steps echoing down the hall like a retreating coward.
Then the silence hit.
Damian turned to her, expression transforming instantly from fury to concern.
He crossed the room slowly. "Emily."
She didn't speak.
Her back was still against the wall, her hands slightly raised like she wasn't sure if she should cry or fight.
He moved carefully, holding both palms up as if approaching something fragile. "I've got you," he said softly. "You're safe. You're okay."
Still, she said nothing.
He stepped closer and gently cupped her elbows. She was trembling. He could feel it through her skin.
"I'm going to take you to your room, alright?"
No answer.
Just the tiniest nod.
He swept her into his arms without hesitation.
She didn't resist.
Her hands clutched his shirt, her cheek pressed to his shoulder. Her breaths were short, silent, and shaky. He carried her out without a word to anyone.
Not the concierge. Not the guests. No explanations.
Only her.
Only silence.
---
He kicked her suite door open gently and carried her inside, all without letting go.
He lowered her carefully onto the edge of the bed, kneeling in front of her again. Her eyes didn't meet his.
She still hadn't said a single word.
But her hands were fisted in the fabric of her dress, and her chest trembled with each shallow breath.
"Emily," he said gently, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "You did nothing wrong."
She stared ahead.
"I'm sorry I wasn't there sooner," he whispered. "You didn't deserve that. None of it."
A single tear slipped down her cheek.
She didn't wipe it away.
Damian exhaled. "If I hadn't walked in…"
His voice cracked for half a second.
"I'll make sure he never gets within ten miles of anything I own. You'll never see him again."
Still no words.
Just silence.
And tears.
But she didn't move away.
She let him kneel there, let him hold her hand, let him speak when she couldn't.
Because right now, his voice was the only thing holding her together.
And for the first time since meeting him, she realized:
There were worse things than falling for a man like Damian Walker.
There was not falling at all—and being alone when the storm finally broke.