The Jilted Heiress And Her Protector

The heavy, soundproof doors of Elysium club swung open. The overwhelming smell of cheap alcohol, sweat, and heavy perfume hit Colette like a physical wall.

She didn't hesitate. She immediately headed toward the glowing neon stairs leading to the VIP section, pushing her way through the sweaty, dancing crowd.

Alex followed closely behind her. He used his broad shoulders and massive frame to physically block drunk patrons from bumping into her, creating a safe path through the chaos.

Suddenly, a massive surge in the crowd pushed a group of dancing girls between them. The physical barrier separated them, pushing Colette further up the stairs.

Alex stopped to forcefully shove a drunk man aside. He momentarily lost sight of Colette's blonde hair.

Before he could step forward, a heavy hand clapped down on his shoulder from the dark edge of a nearby VIP booth.

Alex turned sharply, his muscles coiling, ready to strike. He stopped when he saw the face of the man holding him.

It was Isaiah Joyce. A notoriously wealthy, dangerous heir to a shipping empire.

Isaiah smirked, swirling a glass of amber whiskey in his hand. He looked entirely out of place in the dirty, chaotic club.

"Well, well," Isaiah casually noted over the thumping bass, his eyes scanning Alex's tailored suit. "Didn't expect to see Beaumont's rigid COO playing bodyguard in a place like this."

Alex grabbed Isaiah's wrist. He forcefully removed the hand from his shoulder, his eyes glaring with a dark, unspoken warning. "I am handling personal matters, Isaiah," Alex warned in a low, deadly whisper that cut through the music.

Isaiah chuckled. He leaned back against the leather booth, completely unbothered by the physical threat. "You always were too intensely devoted to your work. But running after Julian Sterling's messes? That seems beneath your pay grade, Alex."

Alex's gaze darted toward the stairs, frantically tracking Colette's ascending figure. "My priorities are exactly where they need to be," Alex replied coldly. "Don't interfere."

Isaiah shook his head, a look of genuine amusement crossing his face. He watched the tense line of Alex's shoulders, thoroughly enjoying the rare crack in the man's usually flawless armor.

"Letting her walk into that mess upstairs is going to be a disaster," Isaiah warned, raising his whiskey glass in a mocking toast.

Alex ignored the warning. He turned his back on Isaiah, shoving past two men to resume following Colette.

Meanwhile, Colette reached the top of the stairs. She stepped onto the glass floor of the VIP section.

She saw a wide circle of people holding up their glowing phones, recording the center of the room.

She pushed her way through the onlookers, her heart pounding furiously against her ribs.

She broke through the front of the crowd. She spotted Julian. He was pinning a sleazy, bleeding middle-aged man, Mr. Russo, against a shattered glass table.

Abby was kneeling on the floor behind Julian, sobbing hysterically into her hands, playing the perfect victim. Jenna, Abby's friend, was screaming at Russo, escalating the chaos.

Colette froze. The reality of her fiancé fighting like a common street thug over another woman paralyzed her vocal cords.

Alex stepped up right behind Colette. His broad chest brushed against her back, his solid presence anchoring her to reality in the spinning room.