Old Chains, New Shields

Old Chains, New Shields
HAZEL WOLFE

“I’ll be right back,” Tristan said, his hand sliding gently from the small of my back and I instantly missed his touch. “You haven’t had a sip of anything, and I think we both deserve a drink after surviving the first half of this evening.”

I opened my mouth to protest — I didn’t want him to leave me, not even for a moment — but his lips curved into a small, rare smile. Not smug. Not formal. Just… warm. Familiar. I just nodded.

“I’ll be quick,” he added, squeezing my fingers.

I nodded, swallowing my hesitation. “Okay.”

He disappeared into the crowd, his tall frame weaving through clusters of silver dresses and crisp tuxedos, every head turning as he passed. People adored watching Tristan Wolfe. Though he may not be someone with money , I could clearly say that he turns everyone's head as he walks by.

And now I was standing alone, back straight, shoulders high — pretending, once again, to belong in a world that had never truly accepted me. Some people came to me to have a little chat but I could tell that they were itching to ask me about my personal life.

I reached for my necklace, absently touching the small diamond pendant that used to belong to my mother, when I heard a voice that made my blood run cold.

“Well, well. Hazel Wolfe In the flesh.”

My entire body went still.

That voice. That smooth, snake-oil cadence. The chill under my skin bloomed instantly — like a reflex. Like my body remembered before my mind caught up.

I turned slowly. And there he was.

Richard.

He looked exactly the same. Only older. Greyer. More tired around the eyes. But the tailored suit was still expensive, the cologne still overpowering, and the smile on his lips still dripped with that same revolting charm that had once convinced my father he was the perfect match for me.

“Richard,” I said, my throat dry, my voice stiff and clipped. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

He chuckled, eyes raking over me in a way that made my skin crawl. “Clearly. You seem… surprised.”

“I try not to keep track of ghosts.” I said as I turned my head to look somewhere else.

That made his smile widen. “You’ve always had a sharp tongue. Still running, Hazel?”

I folded my arms tightly, heart hammering behind my ribs. “I didn’t run. I escaped.” I told him honestly. Though it was not intentional but I am glad that I didn't have to marry this guy for real.

“Ah, yes,” he sighed, stepping closer, completely ignoring the clear edge in my tone. “Vegas. Overnight. No goodbye. No note. Just… gone. You can imagine my heartbreak.”

I said nothing. Because I could imagine it though I won't name it a heart break exactly— and I didn’t care. We had met just two times before this. What heartbreak is he talking about?

He took another step. I caught a whiff of that nauseating cologne and instinctively leaned back, my heels pressing against the marble floor like I might bolt again.

“You looked so lovely that day,” he went on, voice quiet, syrupy. “Your father had you in that ivory lace dress for our engagement announcement. I remember thinking how radiant you looked beside me. How young.”

I clenched my jaw.

“ You are so, young . And yet you were already all woman. So poised. So—”

“Don’t,” I snapped, my voice dropping to a cold whisper. “Don’t finish that sentence.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, but the smile never left his face. “Relax, darling. I’m just reminiscing. Can’t an old flame say he missed you?”

“You weren’t a flame,” I hissed. “You were a cage.” I don't even have the energy to talk to this guy. The words came out before I could filter them — but I didn’t regret them. Not even a little. I immediately tried to walk away , people were watching us of course but I didn't care at this point. I felt a hand on my wrist. I turned and saw him holding my hand tightly.

“What are you doing?” I asked, voice coming out a firm as I tired to get my hand out of his grip

Richard tilted his head, as if trying to be amused. “You know, I was devastated when I heard. Your father was too. He said you’d… changed. That you weren’t the obedient little girl anymore.”

“I grew a spine. Now let go of my hand!”

“And married Tristan Wolfe,” he added with a bitter laugh. “A bodyguard. That must’ve burned your father’s pride to ashes.”

I didn’t answer. Because yes — it did. That had been part of the point. Running off to Vegas and drunkenly marrying Tristan was my final rebellion, the only card I had left to play.

But now, standing here, with Richard’s eyes crawling all over me ,, that night didn’t feel like victory. It felt like survival. his touch makes me feel nauseating

“You know,” he said, stepping closer again — too close — “it’s not too late to talk, Hazel. We were good together. I still remember how your voice sounded when you said my name. I could arrange the divorce papers.”

Before I could speak, a voice cut through the air — firm, low, furious.

“ it’s not too late to walk away and let go of my wife's hand.”

Tristan.

He was back.

He stepped between us so seamlessly that it took Richard a moment to even realize he had been replaced as the closest man to me. He let go of my hand immediately .Tristan’s body was angled toward mine, shielding me completely, his presence crackling like a live wire.

Richard’s smile faltered for the first time.

“Tristan,” he said stiffly, “I was just catching up—”

“With someone who doesn’t want to speak to you,” Tristan replied coldly, pressing a glass into my hand without looking away from him. “Move along, Richard. Before I forget how many cameras are in this room.”

They stared at each other for a beat — two powerful men in expensive suits, but only one of them with the right to stand beside me.

Richard gave a low laugh, smoothing his jacket. “Still possessive, I see. You .”

“No,” Tristan said without blinking. “Just protective. There’s a difference.”

Richard gave a mock bow to me, then disappeared into the crowd, his retreat as quiet as a snake slithering into the dark.

The moment he was gone, I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. My hands were shaking. I hated that they were.

Tristan turned to me, eyes dark. “You okay?”

I nodded, but he didn’t buy it.

Tristan didn’t say anything. He just reached for my hand again, his touch careful, grounding. Not claiming. Not possessive.

Just there.

I looked up at him. “Thank you.”

His jaw was tight. “I should’ve come back faster.”

“No,” I said, shaking m
y head. “You came exactly when I needed you.”

And for the first time tonight, I wasn’t afraid of being seen.