Chapter 158 I Claim Her

Chapter 158 I Claim Her
Nate’s POV

The moment Alexandra walked away, swallowed by the crowd like a shark slipping beneath the surface, I felt something cold settle in my chest. Not fear. Not anger. Something cleaner. Sharper. A decision.

Mila’s fingers were still trembling in mine.

She tried to hide it — she always tried to hide it — but I felt every tiny tremor like it was wired directly into my pulse. The ballroom around us glittered with gold and crystal, but all I saw were eyes. Watching her. Judging her. Whispering behind champagne flutes.

Charity case.

Hero.

Poor girl.

Stone.

Salvatore’s project.

I’d heard every version of it whispered in the halls of Alverstone. Tonight, I heard it in the way people looked at her — like she was a spectacle, a novelty, a temporary ornament I’d brought to amuse myself.

She wasn’t any of those things.

She was mine.

And I was done letting the world pretend otherwise.

I leaned down, brushing my thumb over her knuckles. “Stay with Theodore and Gavin for a minute.”

Her brows pinched. “Nate—”

“I’ll be right back.”

She didn’t argue, but her eyes followed me as I stepped away. I felt the weight of her gaze like a tether pulling at my spine.

Theodore caught my arm as I passed. “What are you doing?”

“Fixing something,” I said.

Gavin’s expression sharpened. “Nate, don’t—”

But I was already moving.

The stage sat at the far end of the ballroom, framed by velvet curtains and lit by warm amber spotlights. A string quartet played near the base of the dais, their music soft and elegant, the kind of soundtrack Alexandra preferred — refined, controlled, emotionless.

I walked straight toward it.

A few heads turned. Then more. Conversations stuttered. The quartet faltered, bows dragging awkwardly across strings as they realized someone was approaching the microphone.

Someone who wasn’t scheduled to speak.

Alexandra’s head snapped toward me from across the room.

Good.

I stepped onto the stage, ignoring the event coordinator who tried to intercept me with a panicked whisper. I reached the podium, adjusted the microphone, and let the silence settle.

Hundreds of eyes locked onto me; I found Mila’s immediately.

She stood between Theodore and Gavin, her emerald gown catching the light, her expression a mix of confusion and fear and something else — something that made my chest tighten.

I took a breath.

And I began.

“Good evening.”

My voice carried easily through the room. I’d been trained to command a room since I could walk — this was no different. But tonight, I wasn’t speaking like a Salvatore heir. I wasn’t speaking like Alexandra’s son. I wasn’t speaking like a businessman.

I was speaking like a man who had something to claim.

“I know this gala is traditionally reserved for business announcements,” I said, letting my gaze sweep the room. “For mergers. Partnerships. Philanthropy. Performances.”

A few polite laughs rippled through the crowd.

I didn’t smile.

“But tonight, I’m not here to talk about business.”

A murmur moved through the room — confusion, curiosity, irritation. Alexandra’s posture stiffened, her fingers curling around her champagne flute.

I kept going.

“Many of you know me. Many of you know my family. And many of you know the story that brought Mila Stone to Alverstone.”

The room shifted — a collective inhale.

Good.

“She didn’t ask for attention. She didn’t ask for recognition. She didn’t ask for a scholarship or housing or any of the things my mother insisted on giving her.”

Alexandra’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t move.

“She didn’t ask for any of it,” I repeated. “Because she didn’t save my life for reward. She didn’t throw herself in front of a truck because she wanted something from me. She did it because that’s who she is.”

I let the silence stretch.

“She is not a charity case.”

A few people flinched.

“She is not a performance piece.”

More movement — shifting feet, darting glances.

“And she is not someone I’m protecting out of obligation.”

The tension gathered, the room holding itself still in a breath no one dared release.

Then I said it.

“She is my partner.”

The word echoed through the ballroom like a crack of thunder.

I didn’t look away from Mila. Her lips parted, her eyes widening, her breath catching in her throat. She looked stunned — not frightened, not embarrassed — stunned.

I held her gaze as I continued.

“She is the person I choose. Not because of what she did. Not because of what she survived. Not because of what she represents. But because of who she is.”

My voice dropped, steady and absolute.

“And I will not tolerate anyone — board member, donor, professor, or family — treating her as anything less.”

A ripple of shock moved through the crowd.

Alexandra’s expression didn’t break, but her jaw tightened — a small, sharp movement that told me exactly how deeply I’d cut.

Good.

I stepped back from the microphone, letting the silence settle again.

Then I delivered the final blow.

“If anyone here has questions about her place at Alverstone, or her place beside me, you can bring them to me directly. But understand this—”

I looked straight at my mother.

“Her place is not up for negotiation.”

The room went still.

Utterly still.

I stepped away from the podium.

The quartet scrambled to resume playing, their bows trembling slightly as they tried to fill the silence with music. Conversations didn’t immediately restart. People stared, whispered, recalibrated.

I walked off the stage, ignoring the coordinator who looked like he might faint.

Theodore met me halfway, his expression a mix of disbelief and admiration. “You just declared war.”

“I know.”

Gavin let out a low whistle. “Alexandra’s going to set the curtains on fire.”

“I know.”

But I wasn’t looking at them.

I was looking at Mila.

She stood frozen, her hands clasped lightly in front of her, her eyes locked onto mine. When I reached her, she didn’t speak. She didn’t move. She just looked at me like she was trying to understand something enormous.

I took her hand.

Her fingers curled into mine instantly.

“Nate,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You didn’t have to—”

“I did.”

Her breath hitched.

I leaned down, my voice low enough for only her to hear. “They needed to see you the way I do.”

Her eyes softened — a small, fragile shift that felt like the world tilting.

Behind her, Alexandra watched us with a smile sharp enough to cut bone.

Let her watch.

Let her see exactly what I’d just done.

Let her understand that tonight wasn’t a performance.

It was a claim.

And I wasn’t taking it back.