Chapter 2 - Shadows in the Balcony
The evening progressed in a blur of society pleasantries, flashing cameras, and wealthy art patrons admiring the necklace.
Every five minutes, a collector or curator stopped to marvel at the intricate, interlocking platinum leaves I had forged by hand.
Yet no matter where I moved across the vast, marble-floored ballroom, Rafe remained an unwavering presence at my side.
Whenever someone bumped too close in the crowded aisles, Rafe’s broad shoulder formed a subtle, impenetrable barrier.
Whenever a waiter offered a tray of canapés, Rafe inspected the glasses before letting me take one.
For a four-hundred-dollar bodyguard from a budget agency, his attention to detail was staggering.
"You're very dedicated to your work, Rafe," I commented softly as we stood near the French doors overlooking the garden terrace.
"In my line of work, Miss Dunn, a lack of dedication is fatal," he replied, his eyes constantly scanning the upper balcony.
"Have you been with Sentinel Security long?" I asked, sipping my mineral water.
Rafe paused, a faint, wry amusement touching the corners of his lips.
"Not particularly long. I mostly handle... specialized corporate restructuring."
"Corporate restructuring?" I blinked in confusion. "Is that what they call personal security details these days?"
"Something like that," he murmured.
I looked up at his profile against the warm ballroom chandelier light.
He had a sharp, aristocratic nose, high cheekbones, and a faint, silver scar running along the underside of his strong jawline.
There was a raw, primal power in the way he carried himself that felt completely out of place among these soft, pampered billionaires.
My curvy figure had always drawn stares in high-society rooms—usually judgmental whispers from society matrons or sleazy glances from men like Preston.
Yet whenever Rafe looked at me, his gaze wasn't critical or predatory.
It was intense, protective, and unmistakably appreciative, making a deep, electric flutter awaken low in my stomach.
Suddenly, Rafe’s jaw tightened.
He reached out, his large, warm hand lightly gripping my elbow, steering me smoothly behind a massive floral arrangement of white lilies.
"What is it?" I whispered, my heart skipping a beat.
"Look up at the second-tier balcony, near the emergency exit sign," Rafe instructed quietly, leaning his head close to mine.
His breath smelled of rich espresso and fresh mint, sending a pleasant shiver down my spine despite the sudden danger.
I glanced through the leaves toward the shadowy mezzanine.
Standing beside the heavy velvet drapes were three men wearing catering uniforms.
None of them were carrying trays.
One of them was the narrow-faced man I had seen whispering near the service corridor earlier in the evening.
He was tapping an earbud, his eyes locked dead onto the diamonds sparkling around my neck.
Beside him stood another man who was discreetly checking the digital breaker panel recessed into the wall.
"Are they gallery staff?" I asked, my voice trembling slightly.
"Those uniforms were stolen from the basement laundry forty minutes ago," Rafe answered in a whisper that brooked no doubt.
"The narrow-faced one is Marcus Cole. He’s a high-end jewel thief who usually works the European hotel circuit."
My eyes widened in shock.
"How on earth do you know the name of a European jewel thief, Rafe?!"
Rafe looked down at me, his dark eyes gleaming with quiet, dangerous confidence.
"I keep track of pest control in this city, Miss Dunn."
"They aren't here for the gallery paintings."
"They're here for your necklace."
"We need to tell the front desk security!" I said, instinctively reaching for the clasp at my throat.
Rafe’s hand gently covered mine, his long, strong fingers stilling my trembling movements.
"The front desk security is currently on Preston Vance’s payroll, Iris," Rafe said softly, using my first name for the first time.
"If you take that necklace off now, you create a public panic, and they grab it in the confusion."
"Leave it on your neck."
"Trust me."
I looked into his steady, unyielding eyes and felt the panic in my chest miraculously recede.
"I trust you, Rafe," I whispered.
May you like
"Good," he smiled, stepping half an inch closer, his chest nearly brushing my bare shoulders.
"Now stay behind me, breathe, and let me earn my four hundred dollars."
