Marking Territory

Cleopatra’s POV

By six thirty the following evening, I was standing in front of my bedroom mirror wondering why I had agreed to attend dinner at the Walton family estate.

The black dress Grace had insisted I borrow fit perfectly, but that only made me more uncomfortable. I wasn’t supposed to look like I belonged in Desmond Walton’s world; I was supposed to look like his employee. Unfortunately, the dress made that distinction difficult.

My phone vibrated on the vanity. A message from Desmond appeared on the screen: I'm at your door.

I stared at it before typing a quick response: hold on, I'm almost ready.

I frowned, but before I could send, the doorbell rang downstairs.

Ten minutes later, I was sitting inside Desmond’s black sedan, watching Silvercrest disappear behind tinted windows.

"You could have warned me about the dress code," I said, breaking the silence.

Desmond glanced at me from his seat. "I did."

"You said dinner."

"My mother considers dinner a diplomatic summit," he countered smoothly.

I sighed, leaning back. "And why exactly am I attending?"

"Because my mother wants to understand the narrative surrounding the wedding scandal."

"By inviting me?"

"By putting us in the same room," he explained.

I turned toward him, raising an eyebrow. "That sounds like a terrible idea."

"It probably is."

I studied his expression. "You don’t seem worried. Dyou?"

"I’m rarely worried."

"That’s because you’re arrogant."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "That too."

The ride continued for another fifteen minutes and soon, the Walton estate appeared beyond a set of enormous iron gates.

I had seen photographs of it before, but nothing prepared me for the actual property. The mansion stood above manicured gardens overlooking the ocean, its white stone facade illuminated against the evening sky.

A staff member opened my door, and Desmond stepped out first before turning back toward me and extending his hand.

I stared at it. "Really?"

"My mother is watching from somewhere," he murmured quietly.

"Of course she is," I muttered, placing my hand in his. His fingers closed around mine, warm and far too comforting.

We walked toward the entrance together, and the moment the doors opened, I understood exactly what Desmond had meant.

Evelyn Walton stood in the center of the marble foyer wearing an elegant emerald gown, surrounded by several influential executives and socialites. Her eyes moved sharply from Desmond to me, then down to our joined hands, her expression becoming entirely unreadable.

"Desmond," she greeted.

"Mother."

She looked directly at me. "Miss Sander."

"Mrs. Walton."

"You came," Evelyn noted.

"Your son insisted," I replied smoothly.

Desmond gave me a subtle sideways look, and I offered a sweet, innocent smile. Before Evelyn’s tightening lips could form a response, a familiar voice drifted across the room.

"What an unexpected surprise."

My stomach tightened at the sound. Victoria Kessel entered from the adjoining salon wearing a silver gown that looked as though it had been designed specifically to remind everyone of her vast wealth. Her eyes immediately found mine, then dropped to Desmond’s hand holding mine, her smile faltering for half a second.

"Victoria," Desmond said coldly.

"I wasn’t aware this was a private family dinner," she remarked.

"It is."

"Apparently not," she said, glancing over at me. "I suppose circumstances have changed."

I held her gaze. "They certainly have."

Victoria laughed softly, taking a step forward. "I heard about your criminal charges, Cleopatra. It must be difficult losing everything so suddenly."

My jaw tightened. "I’ve survived worse."

"Have you?" she pressed, coming closer. "From what I understand, Desmond is paying your legal expenses now."

The surrounding room fell quiet as Victoria’s smile sharpened. "How fortunate."

I opened my mouth to shoot back, but Desmond moved first. His hand settled firmly against my waist, low, protective, and possessive enough to instantly silence the room. My breath caught as I felt the warmth of his palm pressing through the thin fabric of my dress.

"Choose your next words carefully," he warned in a low, even tone.

Victoria stared down at his hand, then looked up at his face. "You seem very protective of her."

Desmond didn’t move his hand. "She is the most vital person in my company. Her work has already saved Walton Global from mistakes made by people who have been here for years. If you have a problem with that, take it up with me."

Victoria’s face tightened. "I was merely concerned."

"No," Desmond replied evenly. "You were being insulting."

Evelyn cleared her throat, breaking the tension. "Enough."

Desmond finally looked down at me, his gaze softening slightly. "You all right?"

I nodded, though my heart was beating far too quickly. It wasn't because of Victoria, but because his hand was still resting against my waist, leaving me unsure whether he realized just how intimate the gesture really felt.

Dinner began shortly afterward, with me seated beside Desmond while Evelyn occupied the head of the long table.

For nearly an hour, the conversation remained painfully polite, bouncing between business, politics, charity, and market movements, everything except my wedding scandal.

Then Evelyn placed her glass down, setting the room on edge. "The media believes Walton Global exploited Cleopatra’s personal tragedy. That perception is damaging our company."

"I didn’t ask for anyone’s sympathy," I said, looking up directly at her.

"I know," Evelyn replied, studying me carefully. "Which is precisely why Desmond hired you."

I glanced at him, but he remained quiet. Victoria leaned back in her chair, seizing the opening. "Perhaps the simplest solution would be for Cleopatra to step away from the company until the investigation is complete."

"No," Desmond interjected immediately.

Victoria blinked, surprised by his sharp tone. "I don’t think you understand."

"I understand perfectly," he said, his voice dropping to a calm, non-negotiable register. "Cleopatra stays."

"Desmond—" Evelyn started.

"That’s final, mother," he cut in, effectively ending the conversation.

The situation was becoming uncomfortable, so I excused myself and stepped onto the terrace to catch my breath.

The ocean stretched out beneath the moonlight, waves crashing against the rocks far below that seemed to calm my heart. I heard footsteps behind me, but I didn't turn around to know it was.

"You didn’t have to defend me back there," I said quietly.

Desmond stopped beside me, leaning against the cold railing. "Yes, I did."

"Why?"

"Because you shouldn’t have to defend yourself against people who have already decided what they want to believe."

I turned to look at him. "You’ve spent most of your life surrounded by people like Victoria, haven't you?"

"Yes."

"And you still let them stay around."

"Not anymore," he answered, his voice steady.

Something about his response unsettled me, so I shifted my gaze back to the sea. "Your hand earlier."

"What about it?"

"You put it on my waist."

"I was trying to prove a point," he said.

"Everyone saw us, Desmond."

"That was the point."

My heart skipped a beat. "Really? What kind of narrative do you think that would create?"

He turned, looking directly into my eyes. "I wanted them to understand that you’re under my protection."

I swallowed hard, struggling to keep my voice grounded. "I’m not yours to protect."

"No," his voice softened just a fraction. "But I want to."

The words hung between us, pulling the silence tight. Then he stepped closer, and for one suspended moment, I thought he might actually kiss me. Instead, he stopped just inches away.

"Come inside," he said quietly, breaking the spell. "It’s cold outside."

I followed him back inside, but as we walked back into the grand mansion, I couldn’t stop thinking about the way his hand had rested against my waist, or the terrifying possibility that I had actually wanted it there.