Page 95 of Pucking Daddy

"You're doing great," Talia says, handing me a fresh champagne flute. "First gala?"

"That obvious?"

"You haven't tried to murder anyone yet, so actually, you're ahead of the curve."

I laugh.

The interruption comes fast.

"Zara! Hey, Zara!"

A man with a camera shoves forward.

"Quick question—how much is Halberg paying you to play wife? Is there a bonus if you win the custody case?"

Silence.

Then Jaxon steps in front of me.

“Don’t talk to my fiancée like that,” he says, his voice low and controlled, but edged with steel. “If you have a question, you address me. Respectfully. Or you don’t ask it at all.”

The silence that follows Jaxon’s words is sharp. Cutting.

The reporter hesitates—just for a second—clearly not expecting to be shut down that fast, that clean.

Then Simone is suddenly there, smooth and efficient, stepping between us like she’s been waiting for exactly this moment. “That’s enough,” she says, her tone pleasant but firm. “Enjoy the evening, gentlemen.”

She steers the reporter away before he can recover, her hand light on his arm but completely unyielding.

Jaxon doesn’t move.

His body is still in front of mine, solid, unshakable. A barrier.

My pulse stutters.

“Hey,” I say softly, touching his arm. “I’m okay.”

He turns then, his eyes finding mine immediately.

There’s something dark in them. Controlled, but barely.

“You shouldn’t have to deal with that,” he says.

“It’s part of the deal, right?” I try for lightness, but it comes out quieter than I intended. “Media attention and scrutiny.”

His jaw tightens. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

For a second, we just look at each other.

Then someone calls his name from across the room, and the moment snaps.

He exhales slowly, nodding once. “We’re leaving.”

“What? I thought—”

“We’ve done enough,” he says, already reaching for my hand. “Simone can handle the rest.”

There’s no argument in me.