I rushed through the hallway, wiping furiously at the tears I couldn’t manage to stop still streaming down my cheeks.
My phone was somewhere in my bag—I fumbled for it desperately. Needing to hear Charlotte's voice, needing someone who would understand. Someone who would tell me I wasn't crazy for feeling violated and betrayed.
I rounded a corner too fast and collided directly with a solid wall of chest. Strong hands gripped my arms, steadying me automatically.
When I looked up Xander’s expression shifted the moment he saw my face.
The polite surprise vanished, replaced by something darker. More dangerous. His grip on my arms tightened.
"What happened?" His voice was low, urgent. "Daphne, talk to me. Something’s wrong at the gala? Is it Bianca again?"
"I'm fine." The lie came out broken, pathetic. "I just need…"
"You're not fine. You're literally shaking and crying rivers." He cupped my face, tilting it up to meet his eyes. "Just tell me what happened, baby."
The words tumbled out—fragmented, messy, impossible to stop.
"The business lunch… Gerald Morrison. He kept… he kept looking at me like I was something to consume. Saying things about my body, about my legs, about…" I choked on a sob. "And then he put his hand on my thigh. Under the table. Right there in front of everyone…"
Xander's face became haggard, his gaze darkened. A muscle ticked in his cheek.
"And Archie saw it." My voice cracked. "He was sitting right across from us. He watched Gerald touch me, and he did nothing. Said Gerald was 'old-fashioned.' Said his investment was too important to risk offending him and—"
"He said what?"
The cold fury in Xander's voice made me step back. His eyes had turned to steel—hard, lethal, terrifying in their intensity. "Xander, don't—"
"Where is he?" His voice was barely controlled. "Morrison. Where the fuck is he right now?"
"I don't know… Probably still in the dining hall. But please, just leave it. I don't want to cause more problems. I just want to forget—"
"Forget?" He stepped closer, his hands framing my face with gentleness despite the rage radiating from every line of his body. "A man put his hands on you without your consent. That's not something you forget. That's something you make him regret!"
"Xander…"
"I need you to tell me you're okay." His thumb brushed away another tear. "That he didn't hurt you worse than you're saying."
"He didn't. It was just... I felt so helpless. So invisible. Like I didn't matter."
"You matter." His voice was fierce. "You matter more than any deal, any investment, any business relationship. And anyone who makes you feel otherwise doesn't deserve to breathe the same air as you."
I couldn't bear the intensity of his gaze. The way he looked at me—like I was precious, like I was worth protecting, like he would burn down everything he'd built just to make me feel safe.
That alone did something to my chest, my heart, my very soul.
But I pulled away, shaking my head. "I really need some time alone. Please."
"Daphne."
"Please…" I ran before he could stop me.
The women's restroom was mercifully empty. I locked myself in the last stall and pressed my back against the cold tile wall, sliding down until I was sitting on the floor.
My chest heaved as I tried to steady my breathing, tried to stop the tears, tried to remember how to feel like myself again.
Minutes passed. Maybe five. Maybe ten. I lost track. Then I heard something. Raised voices echoing from somewhere in the building. A commotion—shouts, the sound of furniture scraping against the floor.
The bathroom door burst open.
"Oh my God, did you hear?" A young woman rushed in, grabbing her friend by the arm. "You have to come see this—Mr. Hale just punched that investor guy! Gerald Morrison! Right in the face!"
My heart stopped.
"What?" Her friend gasped. "Are you serious?"
"Dead serious. There's blood everywhere. Security's trying to break it up but Morrison is threatening to sue, to pull his funding, to destroy the whole company…"
I was already running.
I sprinted back down the hallway, ignoring the pain in my feet from heels I should have abandoned hours ago. The crowd drew me forward—a cluster of people gathered near the dining hall entrance, phones out, whispers spreading like wildfire.
I pushed through until I could see.
Gerald Morrison was being helped to his feet by two of his associates. Blood dripped from his broken nose and split lip, and he dabbed at it with a handkerchief, his face mottled with rage.
"You're finished, Hale," he snarled, pointing a shaking finger at Xander. "Do you hear me? Finished! Your business is over. I'll make sure every investor in this city knows what kind of unstable lunatic you are. I'll bury you!"
Xander stood his ground, utterly unshaken. His knuckles were already bruising, red marks spreading across his skin, but his posture remained steady. Controlled. Dangerous. His voice was ice.
"Maybe it'll be better for you to try explaining to those same investors why you think it's acceptable to harass another person and put your filthy hands on women without their consent!"
"I don't know what you're—"
"Keep your fucking hands to yourself," Xander continued, stepping forward, "or I'll make sure everyone knows exactly what kind of man you are. Your wife. Your daughters. Your board of directors." His eyes narrowed. "I can find plenty of dirt on you, Gerald. Years of it. Don't think I won't use every piece."
The color drained from Morrison's face. "You wouldn't dare."
"Try me." Xander's smile was razor-thin. "I've built an empire from nothing. You think I'm afraid of you? You think your threats mean anything to me?" He stepped closer, and Morrison flinched. "Touch her again, touch any woman like that again, and I won't stop at your fucking face next time."
Morrison sputtered, threatened, blustered. But something in Xander's eyes made him hesitate. Made him reconsider. Made him realize he was facing a man who had nothing to lose and everything to prove.
He retreated, still cursing, his associates practically dragging him toward the exit.
The crowd murmured, dispersed. Security arrived too late to do anything useful. Someone was already on the phone with legal.
And I stood frozen at the edge of it all.
Xander had risked everything. His reputation. His deals. His empire. Everything he'd spent fifteen years building—thrown away in a single punch.
For me. To protect me. Without hesitation. Without calculating the cost.
My eyes found Archie across the room.
He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, frowning at the scene. He didn't interrupt. Didn't step forward. Didn't say a word. But when his gaze found mine, something flickered there—regret, maybe, or shame.
Too little. Too late.
The contrast was devastating.
One man had chosen his business over my safety. The other had chosen to burn his business down rather than let someone hurt me.
Xander's eyes found mine across the chaos. Blood on his knuckles. Fire in his gaze. And something else, something softer, more vulnerable, that made my chest ache.
He'd done this for me.
And in that moment, I knew exactly which man I wanted.