Helen’s POV

The dinner hall glimmered under golden lights, laughter blending with the faint clink of champagne glasses. Yet all I could feel was the weight of Troy’s hand resting near mine on the table ... protective, firm, but distant.

I kept my eyes lowered. After what happened between him and Ben earlier, I could sense the quiet storm sitting beneath his calm exterior. Every time Ben’s smooth voice echoed from across the table, I felt Troy’s energy stiffen beside me. My stomach still aches out of tension.

My throat was dry, my heart too loud. I leaned closer and whispered, “I need to use the restroom.”

He didn’t look at me, only lifted his gaze to one of the servers nearby. “Take her to the restroom,” he said simply, his tone clipped.

The young woman nodded and guided me through the shimmering corridor that led to the restroom.

Inside, silence. For the first time that evening, I could breathe. I leaned against the counter, letting the cool marble steady me. My reflection looked too polished ... too perfect. A doll in a borrowed world.

I adjusted the strap of my dress, exhaled shakily, and turned to leave. But the moment I opened the door, I froze.

Ben Fane!.

He stood outside....waiting for me?

He wasn’t smiling this time.

The attendant who brought me here was nowhere in sight.

My chest tightened. “Mr. Fane… what are you doing here?”

He folded his arms lazily, leaning against the wall like he owned the air I was breathing. “I told them to leave,” he said casually. “It helps being the owner of this hotel.”

I swallowed hard, taking a step back. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Shouldn’t I?” His voice was low, calm, and sharp. “Tell me, Helen… what’s your deal with Troy Stones?”

I tried to walk past him, but he stepped forward, blocking me.

“I asked you a question,” he continued. “Last time I saw you, you were desperate for money. Now you’re playing his little game. Is that it? You chose him over me?”

Anger pricked my skin. “You have no right—”

He smirked, interrupting. “No right? You were ready to sell yourself once. Don’t pretend you’ve suddenly grown morals.”

My hand shot up in reflex — to slap him — but I stopped halfway, trembling. I couldn’t afford to cause a scene that would ruin everything I was trying to rebuild.

He tilted his head mockingly. “Go ahead,” he murmured. “Show me how brave you are.”

“Move,” I said through gritted teeth.

But instead of moving, he stepped closer ... grabbing my waist suddenly to himself. His breath brushed my cheek. “You should know your place, Helen. Women like you don’t belong to this world.”

Then he forcefully kissed me, I was struggling but he empowered me

His hands, moving from my waist to my neck, trying to choke.

I was trying to yell for help when a voice thundered behind him.

“Get away from her.”

The sound of it froze both of us.

Ben turned, and there stood Troy Stones .... tall, furious, his eyes darker than I’d ever seen.

Before Ben could speak, Troy’s hand gripped his collar and shoved him back against the wall.. The kind that made every breath heavy.

“Don’t ever come near her again,” Troy said, his voice calm but edged like steel.

Ben straightened, brushing his jacket. “You’re defending her now? I didn’t think you had the time for a whore”

“Don’t call her whatever insult you were about to say,” Troy cut in, stepping closer. “You’ll regret it.”

For a moment, they stared at each other ... two men, power clashing without words.

Ben’s lips curled into a smirk, but he didn’t reply. Troy finally turned, placing a firm hand on my waist, guiding me toward the exit. His touch was protective.

“Let’s go,” he said quietly.

We walked through the corridor without looking back. As we stepped outside, I noticed his security detail standing near the doorway. Troy gave one sharp nod, and one of them immediately turned to collect our belongings from the table inside.

He led me to the car waiting outside. Neither of us spoke on the ride back to the jet. The silence was heavy — not awkward, but full of unsaid things.

When we reached the jet, I couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Troy,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “Why am I even in this situation?”

He paused at the door of the jet, turning slightly. His face softened, but only a little.

I continued, the words spilling out before I could stop them. “I was almost...” My throat caught. “He could have hurt me. If you didn’t come…”

My chest ached. Tears blurred my vision. “I’ve become a tool for rich men to toss around. I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

Troy said nothing. He simply looked at me ... his usual coldness flickering into something else. Then, without a word, he pulled me into his arms.

The movement was so sudden I froze for a second before my body relaxed against his chest. His embrace was firm ....possessive, not distant... warm.

He held me close, his chin resting lightly on my head as my tears soaked into his shirt.

“It’s over,” he said quietly. “No one will touch you like that again. Not while you’re under me.” Then he strokes my lips gently with his hand.

I wanted to protest ...to remind him that I wasn’t his. But the comfort in his tone was something I hadn’t felt in a long time.

I closed my eyes, exhaustion washing over me. My sobs slowed, my breathing evened out. His hand came up, hesitantly at first, then gently stroking my hair.

For the first time, he wasn’t the proud billionaire or the cold businessman. He was just… human.

Somewhere between the rhythm of his heartbeat and the hum of the jet, I fell asleep.

---

Troy’s POV

I didn’t know when she stopped crying.

One moment, she was trembling in my arms; the next, she was still ... her head resting lightly against my chest. I looked down at her, strands of her hair sticking to her damp cheeks, her lips slightly parted in sleep.

She looked fragile. Too fragile for the world she had been thrown into.

I sat back in the seat, still holding her carefully, stroking her hair. My mind was racing ...with anger, with questions, with something else I couldn’t define.

I had seen men like Ben Fane all my life. I had been like him once — cold, ruthless, unfeeling. But seeing Helen there, cornered and terrified, had sparked something I thought I buried years ago.

I wasn’t supposed to care.

But I did.

The engines of the jet hummed softly as the pilot prepared for takeoff. I glanced down at her again. She shifted slightly, her hand gripping my shirt unconsciously, as if she was afraid to let go.

A quiet sigh escaped me. “What are you doing to me, Helen?” I murmured under my breath.

When was the last time I comforted anyone? When was the last time I even wanted to?

The realization unsettled me. Yet, somehow, I didn’t move.

I stayed there ... watching her sleep, feeling her steady breathing against me ... and for the first time in years, I didn’t feel the cold that always followed me.