Chapter 4

Cleo Kline POV:

The sharp pain in my shoulder blossomed, a fiery reminder of Holden' s rage. My head felt light, a dizzying spin threatening to pull me down. My body screamed for me to fight back, to push him away, to make him feel a fraction of the pain he' d inflicted on me for years. My fists clenched at my sides.

But then, a cold clarity washed over me. Not now. Not like this. Not in front of these vultures. This wasn't the way. I needed to move with precision, not primal instinct. He wanted me to lash out, to prove his accusations of instability. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

From behind Holden, Dianne peeked around his shoulder, her eyes catching mine. The triumphant smirk was back, clear as day. A chilling satisfaction that confirmed her deliberate fall. You won't get away with this, Dianne.

Holden' s grip on me loosened slightly, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes as he saw my calm. He must have expected tears, a struggle, a desperate plea. But I just stood there, breathing evenly, my face a mask of indifference. His brow furrowed. Was he actually reconsidering?

Before he could process it, Dianne let out a small, theatrical whimper. She stumbled again, clinging to his arm. "Oh, Holden, my ankle... it really hurts. Can we just... please go?" She looked at me, her eyes wide with feigned fright. "She's scaring me."

The crowd echoed her fear. "See? She's dangerous." "Someone should call security." "Poor Dianne." The whispers were a venomous chorus.

Holden's brief hesitation vanished, replaced by renewed fury. He shoved me away, not hard enough to send me sprawling, but with enough force to make me stumble. "Get out of my sight, Cleo," he spat, his voice laced with pure disgust. "You're a disgrace. A liability."

His sycophants, emboldened by his anger, began to chime in. "Go home, Cleo!" "You don't belong here!" "She's a threat to Dianne!" Their words were stones, hurled at my already battered spirit.

I felt a ghost of a memory, the echo of countless times I' d stood just like this, trying to placate him, to understand him, to win his love. I remembered the late nights, the compromises, the endless excuses I made for his cruelty. I remembered giving up my own dreams, my own voice, just to fit into his perfect, suffocating world. I remembered believing that if I was just enough, he would finally see me, truly love me.

The realization hit me, cold and sharp. It wasn't just pathetic; it was utterly tragic. All of it. All those years, all that effort, all that love I poured into a hollow man. It was all for nothing. A meaningless sacrifice.

Holden stepped closer again, his face inches from mine, his breath hot against my cheek. "Listen to me, Cleo," he snarled, his voice low and dangerous. "You will announce our engagement tonight. You will transfer your shares to me. And you will do it with a smile on your face, or I swear to God, I will make your life a living hell. You have nothing without me. Remember that. You are nothing." He paused, his eyes burning into mine. "You're just a girl, Cleo. A vulnerable, foolish girl who needs a strong hand to guide her. Don't make me use it."

I looked back at him, my gaze unwavering. The fear was gone. Replaced by something cold and hard.

Just then, a hush fell over the room. The grandfather clock in the corner chimed, its resonant tone signaling the top of the hour. The gala was about to begin. Elsworth Ingram, Holden's father and the Chairman, appeared on the raised platform at the far end of the ballroom, a formidable figure in his bespoke suit.

He surveyed the room, his gaze briefly sweeping over me. For a fleeting second, his eyes softened as they lingered on the bruise forming on my arm where Holden had gripped me. A flicker of something unreadable passed through his gaze before it hardened, moving on.

Then, a new presence. A shift in the air. A ripple of unease, almost fear, spread through the crowd. The murmurs died, replaced by a tense silence. He entered from a side door, a figure carved from shadow and steel. Hazen Ingram. His broad shoulders filled the doorway, his dark suit doing little to soften the rugged lines of his body. The jagged scar on his neck, a brutal white line against his tanned skin, pulsed under the harsh ballroom lights. He walked with a predator's grace, his eyes, dark and unreadable, scanning the room. He was the family's "black sheep," the terrifying ex-Special Forces eldest son, feared by all.

He moved silently, ignoring the gaping stares, until his eyes landed on me. He stopped, his gaze dropping to my injured arm. His jaw tightened.

"Cleo," he rasped, his voice a low growl that seemed to vibrate through the very floorboards. "Are you alright?"

Holden, his face a mask of shock, stepped between us. "She's perfectly fine, Hazen. Just a little over-dramatic, as usual. Now, if you'll excuse us, we have an announcement to make." He tried to wave Hazen off, his bravado returning, though a tremor was noticeable in his voice.

Elsworth Ingram, from the platform, raised a hand. "Hazen, my boy. A word." He seemed to ignore Holden's attempt at dismissal.

Hazen didn' t take his eyes off me. "Your father's wishes, Elsworth," he said, his voice flat. "But first, I'm here for Cleo." He took a step forward.

I looked at Holden, then at Hazen. My heart, which had been a stone for so long, stirred. I remembered the shadowy figure who had pulled me from a speeding car, years ago, when I was certain I was being kidnapped. The strong arms that had held me, before vanishing into the night. It had been Hazen. Always Hazen. Protecting me from the shadows.

I walked past Holden, ignoring his sputtered protests, ignoring the gasp from Dianne. I kept my eyes on Hazen. He was not the prince. He was the monster. And suddenly, the monster felt like the safest place in the world.

Holden scoffed. "She's just walking to the podium, Hazen. To do what she's supposed to do." He smiled, a triumphant, sickening smile. "She'll choose me. She always chooses me."