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Longing Beneath Blossoms

To save her family from pressure, Rhea Vaughn makes a startling choice: she will marry the comatose heir of the powerful Ashford family. This decision relieves her father, Victor, who was desperate to protect his illegitimate daughter from the same fate. However, Rhea’s compliance comes with a sharp edge. As the two-week deadline for the wedding at Harborwyn looms, she confronts her father to demand compensation for her sacrifice. Longing Beneath Blossoms follows Rhea as she navigates a marriage of convenience born from family betrayal and billionaire secrets.
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Chapter 4

The club lights blurred into a haze as Rhea tipped back her head and downed her third glass of whiskey.

The alcohol scorched her throat, yet it could not extinguish the resentment burning in her chest.

At the center of the dance floor, she moved in slender heels, her red dress flaring with every turn. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Wyatt standing beside a private booth.

He was supposed to be her bodyguard. Instead, he stayed glued to Vera’s side.

She leaned in close, whispering something near his ear. Her lips nearly brushed his earlobe, and Wyatt, who was always ice-cold with Rhea, showed a faint flush at the tips of his ears.

Rhea let out a quiet, mocking laugh. As she turned away, a group of spoiled rich boys closed in around her.

"Care to drink with us, Miss Vaughn?"

"Let’s exchange contacts."

"I’ve wanted to meet you for a long time. Seeing you in person… your face really lives up to the rumors."

They crowded her into a corner until she could not move. Refusing them only drew more men in, until someone’s hand slid boldly onto her waist.

"Wyatt!" She finally snapped.

Only then did Wyatt seem to notice her predicament. Frowning, he strode over and shoved through the crowd. The muscles in his arms stood out beneath his black suit. One sharp look was all it took for the young men to retreat in embarrassment.

"Anyone watching would think you were her bodyguard," Rhea sneered, lifting a hand to wipe the spilled alcohol from her collarbone.

Wyatt lowered his gaze. "Sorry. I didn't notice it."

"Didn't notice it?" She suddenly leaned in, her red lips nearly brushing his jaw. "Or did you simply not want to?"

Her scent closed in on him without warning. His throat bobbed once as he took half a step back. "You've had too much to drink."

"Don't worry. Once I'm married off, you'll be able to protect Vera to your heart’s content—" Her words were swallowed by a sudden scream erupting from the stage.

Staff wheeled out a massive iron cage. Inside, two adult Tibetan mastiffs paced restlessly.

"Tonight’s special event!" the host shouted excitedly. "Black Whirlwind versus Crimson Blaze. Betting is now open!"

Rhea frowned. Nightfall Club often staged bloody fight-betting shows like this, and she had always hated them. She was about to leave when the iron cage let out a strained creak.

The lock loosened.

Everything happened in an instant.

The larger mastiff slammed into the cage door and burst free, lunging straight at the nearest crowd.

Amid the screams, Rhea saw Wyatt spin around without hesitation. Almost instinctively, he rushed to Vera, wrapping her tightly in his arms and shoving her toward the emergency exit.

Rhea stood frozen at the spot closest to the mastiff. She could clearly see the saliva clinging to its exposed fangs.

"Ah—"

The pain came without warning.

When the mastiff’s teeth pierced the muscle of her calf, she vaguely heard the sound of fabric and flesh tearing together. A chunk of meat was ripped away. Blood sprayed as she collapsed to the floor, watching helplessly as the beast lunged at her again.

Bang!

The gunshot rattled her eardrums. The mastiff dropped instantly.

The last thing she saw was Wyatt holding a gun, shielding Vera behind him, and the ceiling spinning as the lights went dark.

The smell of disinfectant assaulted her nostrils.

Rhea regained consciousness through the pain. The first thing she saw was a stark white ceiling. Her calf felt like it had been seared with a branding iron. Every breath tugged at the wound.

She turned her head with effort. What she saw at the hospital room door struck her half-awake mind like another blow.

Vera was buried in Wyatt’s arms, sobbing. "Wyatt, you are Rhea’s bodyguard. Why did you protect me instead? This is all my fault. I should never have come…"

His well-defined hand patted her back gently, his voice impossibly soft. "Miss Vera, you don't need to blame yourself.

"Even if it happened a hundred times over," he paused, brushing the tears from her cheek, "I would still choose to protect you first."

"Why?" Vera looked up at him with tear-filled eyes.

Wyatt met her gaze. Emotion darkened his deep-set features. "Because I—"