CHAPTER FOURTEEN: just territorial.

ACE

The hotel was lavish—five stars and all that jazz—but I barely noticed the gold chandeliers or the overpriced scent wafting through the corridors. My mind was wired tight with the coming gala. Not the charity part of it, of course. That was just fluff for the press. What really mattered were the faces behind the champagne flutes—the ones who ran underground networks with the elegance of politicians and the ruthlessness of warlords.

Hope’s suite was directly across from mine.

Of course, it was my idea. Not close enough to be suspicious. Not far enough to lose track of her.

She disappeared into the room without a word, suitcase rolling behind her, and I didn’t knock. Not yet.

Thirty minutes later, I made the call for her to be taken to a private styling suite downtown—somewhere discreet but equipped enough to transform her into the kind of woman this world admired and secretly feared.

And maybe I wanted to see what she looked like when she wasn’t trying to blend into shadows.

I got dressed in silence. Black suit. Custom tailored. Handgun holstered underneath the jacket because gala or not, this was still our world. The mask I wore was familiar—calculated, sharp, untouchable.

But I wasn’t prepared for the storm that would walk back out of that styling suite as I waited for her inside the car.

When the doors opened and Hope stepped out, something in my chest shifted. Just slightly. Like a blade tilting in the wrong direction.

She wasn’t beautiful.

She was devastating.

Her gown hugged her curves like it was sewn onto her body. Deep blue, backless, with a slit that screamed murder and mercy all at once. Her hair was swept into a slick updo, exposing the soft line of her neck and the glint of earrings I didn’t remember approving but suddenly appreciated.

Her makeup was flawless—but not loud. Just enough to make her lips look like sin and her eyes like war.

I swallowed, hard.

For a second, I regretted bringing her. Not because she didn’t belong—she looked like she owned the damn night—but because I knew exactly what kind of attention she was about to receive.

They would eat her alive.

These weren’t ordinary men we were going to meet. These were the kind that turned women into trophies and soul scars. And the fact that she was on my arm meant one thing to them:

A challenge.

It wouldn’t matter if we walked in wrapped around each other like vines. Hell, even if we walked in wearing the same damn pants, someone was still going to try.

But unlike the previous years—where I’d simply smirked, brushed it off, let the predators circle and let the date pretend she was safe—this time was different.

Hope was mine.

Even if she didn’t know it. Even if I hadn’t said it. Even if I was too much of a coward to admit how deep she’d gotten under my skin.

She walked up to me, heels clicking, eyes locked. Bold. Unapologetic.

“You’re staring,” she said with a slight smirk.

“I’m considering setting the entire building on fire,” I replied.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t like the idea of sharing oxygen with any man who might look at you the way I just did.”

She blinked, stunned for half a second before covering it up with a teasing smile.

We got into the car, her perfume wrecking whatever was left of my logic.

And as we rode toward the gala, I made myself a silent promise: if anyone so much as looked at her

the wrong way, I wouldn’t hesitate.

Not tonight. Not with her.

HOPE

The car ride to the gala was suffocating—in the best and worst ways. Ace barely spoke, but his eyes said more than enough. Every glance he stole set my nerves on fire. Every breath between us felt like we were sharing more than oxygen.

By the time we pulled up in front of the sprawling estate doubling as a “charity gala,” my heart was thudding in places I didn’t even know could beat.

The valet opened the door and I stepped out, heels sinking into the velvet carpet, and the flash of lights nearly blinded me. Paparazzi. Socialites. Cosa Nostra in designer tuxedos and million-dollar smiles. It was all glamour, masks, and something darker beneath.

Ace offered me his arm, and I took it, steadying myself.

"Ready?" he asked, voice like silk over steel.

"I was born ready," I lied.

The moment we stepped inside, it was like walking into a kingdom of wolves. Champagne glasses clinked in delicate hands, but the conversations were razor-edged. Every smile was tight. Every gaze calculating.

And I was the new flavour on the menu.

Eyes swept over me like I was an exotic artifact on display—valuable, unfamiliar, and ripe for possession. I tried not to flinch. Tried not to lean closer to Ace than I already was. Tried not to care.

But Ace noticed.

He slid his hand from my elbow to the small of my back, guiding me forward. Possessive. Protective. Like he was telling the room: Touch her and die.

And I’d be lying if I said it didn’t do things to me.

"Is this always how it feels?" I whispered.

He tilted his head slightly. "How what feels?"

"Walking into a room and knowing you’re either admired or hunted."

He smirked. “That’s exactly it. Welcome to the family business.”

We passed a circle of older men, one of whom lifted a glass and smiled at me in a way that made my skin crawl. I smiled politely, but Ace’s grip tightened on my waist just slightly—like he saw it too.

"That’s Don Perelli,” Ace said low enough only I could hear. “Looks like a retired grandpa. Would gut a man with the same fork he’s using to eat tiramisu.”

Charming.

I did my best to stay calm, poised, elegant. But everything here felt dangerous. Beautiful, but sharp. And while I might’ve been on Ace’s arm, I knew deep down I wasn’t invincible.

“I see why you don’t bring the same date twice,” I whispered.

He glanced down at me, amused. “And what makes you think you won’t be the exception?”

I stopped walking.

He turned with me, brows lifting. “Something wrong?”

“No,” I said, then leaned in just a little, letting my lips graze the edge of his jaw. “Just... proving a point.”

He stared at me, a flicker of heat in his eyes that he masked quickly. But I saw it. Felt it.

A woman in a silver gown approached, dripping in diamonds and attitude. “Ace Mason,” she purred. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t show.”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” he said smoothly, but he didn’t release me.

Her eyes flicked to me, curious. Dismissive.

“And you must be?”

“I’m with him,” I replied simply, and she gave a tight smile before walking away.

Ace chuckled under his breath. “Jealous?”

“No,” I smirked. “Just territorial.”

He leaned in, his mouth inches from mine. “Careful, Hope. I might start thinking you want to keep me.”

Before I could answer, a soft chime rang out, calling everyone to attention for the opening speeches and dinner service. Ace guided me to our table near the front—close to the head of the room. Close to power.

But even as I sat down beside him, smiled at strangers, sipped expensive champagne—I couldn’t shake one thought:

I didn’t just walk into a gala. I walked into a war.

And whether I was ready or not, I was officially in the middle of it—with Ace Mason by my side.

And maybe… just maybe… that terrified me more than anything else.