chapter 53
Sebastian's POV:
The moment I stepped into that ballroom and saw him—that pathetic excuse for a man advancing on my wife with predatory intent—something primal and violent surged through my blood.
The crowd parted before me like water, their whispered speculations dying on their lips as they recognized the danger radiating from every line of my body.
Bob Morrison's face underwent a transformation that would have been comical if I weren't so consumed with the need to tear him apart.
The arrogant sneer melted away like ice under flame, replaced by a sickly pallor that made his earlier bravado seem even more pathetic.
"Mr. Vane," he stammered, attempting to smooth down his disheveled appearance from his scuffle with Damian, blood still trickling from his split lip. The sight of it gave me a moment's satisfaction—at least someone had already started what I intended to finish. "What a pleasant surprise. I had no idea you'd be gracing us with your presence tonight."
His voice carried that fawning, obsequious quality people adopted when facing someone they couldn't afford to offend.
"Who exactly do you think you're threatening?" I repeated, my voice deceptively calm.
His brow furrowed in confusion, clearly not grasping the gravity of his situation.
"Oh, that?" He waved a dismissive hand toward Elena, his arrogance still intact despite his bloodied state. "Just some nobody trying to seduce me. Really not worth dirtying your eyes with, Mr. Vane. These social climbers are everywhere these days."
He straightened his ruined jacket with an air of importance. "But what brings you to this little gathering? "
"I'm here to pick up my wife and take her home," I said evenly, watching with dark satisfaction as his face went through several rapid transformations.
"Your wife?" His voice pitched higher with surprise. "I had no idea you'd gotten married! Who is the fortunate lady? Which debutante finally managed to—"
I didn't let him finish. Instead, I walked past him with deliberate calm, my eyes fixed on Elena where she stood pressed against the wall. In three strides, I reached her, and without hesitation, I pulled her into my arms, fitting her against my chest where she belonged.
The sound Bob made was somewhere between a gasp and a choke.
When I glanced over, his face had gone completely white, his expression frozen in absolute horror as the pieces clicked into place. He looked like a man who'd just realized he'd been playing with a live grenade.
"You said my wife tried to seduce you?" I asked, my voice cold enough to frost glass as I kept Elena secure in my embrace.
I let my gaze travel over him slowly, from his disheveled hair to his bloodied face to his cheap, ruined suit, allowing every ounce of my contempt to show.
"Tell me, Morrison," I continued, my voice dropping to a conversational tone that somehow managed to be more terrifying than shouting. "What exactly about you would inspire my wife to attempt seduction? Your charming personality? Your obvious respect for women? Or perhaps your remarkable ability to bleed all over your cheap suit?"
The insult landed exactly as intended. He flushed an ugly red, then paled again as the reality of his situation fully registered. Bob Morrison might be a trust fund brat with delusions of importance, but even he understood the vast chasm between his family's moderate wealth and the Vane empire.
"I... Mrs. Vane, I'm so sorry!" He practically fell over himself trying to get closer, though he was smart enough not to actually approach us.
His voice cracked with desperation as he directed his pleas to Elena. "Mrs. Vane, I was blind! I had eyes but couldn't see... I've offended you terribly. Please, I beg your forgiveness!"
I shifted my hold on Elena, taking her hand in mine and interlacing our fingers. I studied her face, noting the faint marks on her arm where he'd grabbed her.
"Are you hurt?" I asked softly, for her ears alone. My thumb traced along her jawline, a gentle contrast to the violence I was barely containing.
"I'm fine," she whispered. "Just... can we go home?"
"Of course," I murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead before turning my attention back to Bob, who was still babbling apologies like they might save him. "Since Mr. Morrison seems so sincerely sorry for his behavior..."
I let the sentence hang, watching hope flicker pathetically in his eyes before I crushed it with my next words. "Marcus. Please escort Mr. Morrison somewhere private where he can properly reflect on his actions tonight."
My security team materialized from the crowd with their usual efficiency, flanking Bob before he could even process what was happening. The color drained from his face entirely as he looked between them and me.
"Wait," he gasped, looking around wildly for help that wouldn't come. "You can't just—"
"I can do whatever I want," I informed him quietly, my tone carrying the absolute certainty of someone who had never been contradicted.
As my men led him away, his protests fading into the distance, Elena turned in my arms to face Isabella and Damian.
"Thank you," Elena said softly, her natural grace reasserting itself despite everything. "Both of you. I'm so sorry for ruining your party, Isabella."
"Don't be ridiculous," Isabella replied, her usual sharp edges softened with genuine concern. "I'm just glad you're alright. That cousin of mine has always been a pig, but this..." She shook her head, disgust clear on her features.
I acknowledged Damian with a nod, a silent communication passing between us.
"We're leaving," I announced, not bothering to phrase it as a question.
My hand found the small of Elena's back again, guiding her toward the exit while the crowd parted before us like the Red Sea.
I could feel their stares, hear their whispers, but none of it mattered. Let them talk. Let them spread the word about what happened to those who dared touch Mrs. Sebastian Vane.
The cool night air hit us as we exited the hotel, and I felt Elena take a deep breath, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. My driver already had the car waiting, and I helped her inside before sliding in beside her, immediately pulling her against me.
She came willingly, curling into my side. My hand found hers, lacing our fingers together, my thumb rubbing soothing circles over her wedding ring.
"What will happen to him?" she asked after we'd been driving for several minutes, her voice small and uncertain.
I looked down at her, studying her profile in the passing streetlights. "Does it matter? He hurt you. He scared you. "