Chapter 6: UNDER HIS PROTECTION

Seraphina’s POV

Chaos swallowed the ballroom the moment Alexander said yes.

Voices rose in a wave of shock and outrage. Cameras flashed around us like lightning. Someone shouted my name in disbelief, some laughed, shock still etched on their faces. I barely heard any of it.

My fingers were still resting in Alexander’s large, steady hand, and the warmth of his skin was the only solid thing in the entire room.

I tightened my grip and turned toward the nearest exit. “Let’s go,” I said quietly.

He nodded once and began guiding me through the crowd. Guests parted for him almost instinctively, even in the middle of this scandal, people still stepped aside for Alexander Knight.

We had almost reached the wide double doors when a rough hand clamped around my wrist and yanked me backward.

Pain shot up my arm and I stumbled backwardss, nearly losing my balance.

“You ungrateful little…”

My father’s voice cracked through the noise like a whip, his face was mottled red, eyes bulging with fury. Spittle gathered at the corner of his mouth as he raised his other hand high, palm open, ready to strike.

I froze, in my first life I had never seen him raise a hand to me in public. The sight of that open palm coming toward my face made something cold and old coil in my stomach.

Before the blow could land, another hand—larger, colder and far stronger—caught my father’s wrist mid-air.

Alexander’s fingers locked around Victor’s arm like iron, making it seem like the entire ballroom just held their breath.

“I wouldn’t,” Alexander said, his voice low and almost conversational. Yet every person within ten feet fell silent.

My father tried to wrench himself free. “This is a family matter Alexander, release me right now.”

Alexander did not loosen his grip. He looked down at my father with the same mild interest he might give a particularly dull spreadsheet.

“If you hit her,” he said calmly, “you are hitting my wife. And I do not believe you are prepared for the consequences of striking what belongs to me.”

The words settled over the room like frost, from the corner of my eye, I could see people’s mouths wide open.

My father laughed, short and ugly. “Your wife? You accepted a public proposal five minutes ago. There is no marriage and there are no contracts. She is still my daughter, and I will discipline her as I see fit.”

Alexander’s thumb pressed lightly against the inside of my fafher’s wrist, just enough to make the older man flinch.

“You are correct about one thing,” Alexander replied. “There are no contracts yet, but there is something else.” He tilted his head slightly, almost curious. “The South Harbor logistics deal you’ve been chasing for fourteen months, the same one that requires three separate board approvals and a quiet word from two of my subsidiaries.”

Victor’s face drained of color so quickly I thought he might collapse.

Alexander continued, still holding his wrist. “One phone call, Victor. That is all it would take anx by morning the approvals will be withdrawn, the financing will evaporate, and every partner you have been entertaining will receive a very polite explanation as to why the deal is no longer viable. You will lose the project, the projected revenue. And given the current state of Hart Group’s liquidity… you may lose a great deal more than that.”

He finally released my father’s arm.

Victor staggered back half a step, cradling his wrist. His mouth opened, then closed. For the first time in either of my lives, I watched my father look small.

I stared at him. At the man who had raised me, who had arranged my engagement like a stock trade, who had just tried to strike me in front of half the city’s elite. And still, when money was threatened, he chose it over me without hesitation.

Something inside my chest cracked, quiet and final.

Alexander’s hand settled at the small of my back, steady and warm. “We are leaving,” he said, not asking.

I nodded.

He took my hand again and led me out of the ballroom. The moment the heavy doors closed behind us, the roar of voices muted into a distant hum. The grand hallway stretched ahead, lined with tall windows and golden sconces. My heels clicked against the marble, too loud in the sudden quiet.

Alexander’s fingers remained laced with mine. His palm was dry, his grip firm but careful, as though he was aware of how easily he could hurt me if he wanted to.

We walked in silence for several steps. My pulse still thundered in my ears. The phantom sensation of my father’s raised hand lingered on my cheek even though the blow had never landed.

Halfway down the corridor, Alexander stopped.

I turned to look at him, confused—and then the world tilted.

One moment my feeet were on the floor. The next, strong arms slid beneath my knees and around my back, lifting me clean off the ground as though I weighed nothing. My breath left me in a startled gasp.

Instinctively I clutched at his shoulders, fingers curling into the expensive fabric of his suit jacket.

“What…Alexander…”

“You were shaking,” he said simply, already walking again.

I hadn’t even noticed.

My face burned. I was suddenly, intensely aware of every point of contact between us—the solid wall of his chest against my side, the controlled strength in the arms holding me, the faint scent of his cologne, clean and expensive and nothing like Ethan’s. My heart stumbled over itself.

“I can walk,” I managed, though my voice came out softer than I intended.

“I know.” He glanced down at me once, something unreadable flickering in those cold eyes. “But you don’t have to.”

The words settled somewhere deep in my chest and I didn’t even know when I snuggled closer.

Outside, the night air was cool against my overheated skin. A black Maybach waited at the bottom of the steps, the driver already holding the rear door open. Alexander carried me all the way to the car and only then set me carefully on my feet. His hands lingered at my waist for half a second longer than necessary before he stepped back.

I slid into the back seat on unsteady legs. He followed, closing the door with a soft, decisive click. The privacy partition rose as the car pulled away from the glittering mansion and the chaos we had left behind.

For a long moment neither of us spoke. City lights slid past the tinted windows in soft streaks of gold and white. I stared at my hands in my lap, still feeling the ghost of his arms around me.

Finally I whispered, “Thank you… for stopping him.”

Alexander’s voice came low and even from the shadows beside me. “No one will raise a hand to you again, not while I am breathing.”

I turned my head to look at him. In the dim light of the car his profile looked carved from stone—sharp, controlled, untouchable. Yet the memory of how carefully he had lifted me refused to leave.

Outside, the night stretched wide and unknown.

Inside the quiet car, for the first time since waking up in the past, I allowed myself to breathe.