Chapter 7 — The Red Carpet Slander

The grand ballroom of the Beverly Hilton was a swirling vortex of flashbulbs, diamond champagne flutes, and the suffocating scent of expensive perfumes.

It was the annual Titan Music Gala, the most elite night in the industry, where the lines between art, power, and corporate cruelty were completely blurred.

Melody Petrova stood in a dim, stone-walled corridor just outside the main VIP lounge, her breath caught in her throat. She looked breathtaking, though she felt utterly terrified.

The emerald-green silk dress Kaelen had bought her clung to her curves like liquid jade, defining her deep hourglass silhouette and exposing the creamy porcelain of her collarbones.

Her long, honey-blonde hair cascaded down her bare shoulders in loose, polished waves. She had left her glasses in her purse, and her wide, smoky grey eyes looked dangerously vulnerable in the dim lighting.

She was supposed to be delivering a revised contract to the upper management, but she had been caught in the crosshairs.

"Well, well. Look what decided to crawl out of the typing pool," a slick, venomous voice drawled from the shadows of the corridor.

Melody froze as Christian Sterling stepped into her path, blocking her exit. The thirty-eight-year-old Vice President of Titan Music was a notorious workplace predator, a man who used his immense corporate leverage to chew through young interns. He held a glass of scotch, his eyes bloodshot and heavily glazed as they swept over her body with a look of profound, derogatory disgust.

"I heard Thorne was throwing money around at Villon, but I didn't believe it until now," Sterling sneered, stepping closer until the smell of alcohol invaded her space. He reached out, his fingers casually tapping the silk covering her hip with a dismissive, cruel flick.

"They really can do miracles with corsetry these days, can't they? But let's be honest, sweetheart. A pig in silk is still a pig. You’re a low-tier, plus-size nobody with a pathetic stutter, occupying space in a room full of gods. Did you actually think a fancy dress makes you belong here?"

Melody’s chest tightened so hard she couldn't breathe. The raw, malicious slander sliced through her heavy emotional defenses, fracturing them instantly. Her jaw locked, the hated stutter paralyzing her throat as tears of absolute humiliation rushed to her eyes. "M—Mr. Sterling, I... I have the contracts—"

"Shut your mouth," Sterling hissed, leaning in, his voice dropping into a threatening whisper.

"You’re an eyesore. If it were up to me, I’d have security throw your fat ass out into the rain where you belong."

He never got to finish the sentence.

A blur of pure, lethal motion shattered the quiet of the corridor.

A massive hand gripped the collar of Sterling’s tailored tuxedo, and with a terrifying, feral strength, Kaelen Thorne slammed the high-ranking executive violently against the stone wall.

The impact was so loud it echoed down the hallway. Sterling’s scotch glass shattered against the floor, amber liquid and shards of glass exploding across the polished tile.

"Say another word about her," Kaelen roared, his voice a guttural, demonic growl that didn't sound human. "Say one more word, and I will personally ensure you never breathe in this industry again."

Sterling gasp for air, his face turning a dark, panicked purple as Kaelen’s knuckles dug directly into his throat, pinning him effortlessly. "Thorne! Are you insane? I am the Vice President of this fucking label—"

"I don't give a fuck if you’re the King of England," Kaelen snarled, his icy blue eyes completely wild, the pupils blown wide with a manic, protective rage.

The ultimate, unspoken law of Kaelen's fractured mind had just been triggered: Only I get to provoke her.

Anyone else dies. His dark possessiveness had bled entirely from the digital realm of Aethel into his physical reality. He couldn't tolerate the thought of another man touching her, speaking to her, or looking at her.

With a sudden, brutal twist of his torso, Kaelen pulled Sterling forward and drove his fist straight into the center of the executive's face.

The sickening crack of Sterling's nose breaking echoed through the corridor. Blood sprayed across the white marble wall as the toxic vice president collapsed onto the floor, clutching his face and groaning in agony.

Melody let out a sharp, breathless gasp, her hands flying to her mouth. She stared at Kaelen, her heart rate going entirely chaotic.

The untouchable, global superstar had just gone to total war, destroying a corporate tycoon in front of elite industry rooms, all for the sake of a low-tier assistant. The protective dopamine rush hit her like a physical wave, leaving her dizzy.

"Kaelen!" Marcus Vance’s cold voice cut through the aftermath as he rushed into the corridor, followed by a wall of heavy security guards. Marcus looked at the bleeding executive on the floor, then at Kaelen’s blood-stained knuckles, his face hardening into stone.

"Jesus Christ, Kaelen. What did you do? The board will destroy us for this."

"Let them try," Kaelen spat, his chest heaving as he turned his predatory, unyielding gaze back to Melody. He didn't care about the board. He didn't care about his career.

Deep within the ceiling, hidden behind a decorative crown molding, a tiny, blinking red light captured the entire violent encounter. A security camera, unlinked to the main system, had recorded every single second of the rock star’s feral protection.

The footage was already being copied, a ticking time bomb that would soon cause heavy, scandalous rumors to boil underneath the surface of Hollywood.

But right now, Kaelen was completely blind to the danger.

He stepped over the broken glass, his massive frame towering over Melody. Without asking, without a single word of explanation, his large, calloused hand snapped around her bare wrist. His grip was firm, unyielding, and possessive, his intense body heat burning straight through her sensitive skin.

"We’re leaving," Kaelen growled, his voice vibrating through her bones.

"Mr. Thorne... the paparazzi... they're right outside," Melody whispered, her voice shaking as she felt the sheer, heavy weight of his grip.

"Let them look," Kaelen muttered.

With Marcus and a phalanx of six towering security guards forming a human shield around them, Kaelen dragged Melody out of the corridor and straight into the main lobby of the Beverly Hilton.

The moment they hit the exit, a sea of flashing paparazzi cameras exploded into their faces. A hundred lenses strobe-flashed simultaneously against the dark Beverly Hills night, the shouting of journalists turning into a deafening roar.

"Kaelen! Did you just assault Christian Sterling?"

"Who is the woman in green, Kaelen? Is she your secret lover?"

Kaelen didn't stop. He didn't look down. He kept his massive body positioned directly between the flashing lenses and Melody, his hand locked tightly around her wrist like a iron shackle, pulling her through the chaotic crowd.

As the heavy doors of the luxury black SUV swung open, he practically shielded her with his own chest, thrusting her into the protective leather darkness of the backseat before diving in right behind her.

The door slammed shut, cutting off the flashes, leaving the two of them trapped in the quiet, breathing space of the car, their pulses tangled in a dangerous, intoxicating rhythm.