Chapter 5: Safe in His Empire
The absolute swiftness of the retribution left the room reeling. Victoria collapsed to her knees, the heavy emerald brooch digging into her chest as she gasped for air, her legacy completely dismantled with a single sentence. Veronica dropped her wine glass, burying her face in her hands as she burst into loud, ugly, exaggerated tears, mourning the loss of the only thing she valued—her status.
But Ethan was no longer paying them any attention. They were dust beneath his boots.
He looked down at Clara, his fierce eyes softening into pools of deep, unwavering adoration. He reached up with one gloved hand, gently wiping away the remaining tears from her soft cheeks.
"Are you alright, my love?" he whispered, his voice meant only for her ears, completely ignoring the room full of ruined socialites and terrified billionaires.
Clara looked up at him, a watery smile breaking through her distress. The heavy, oppressive atmosphere of the gala had vanished, replaced by the warmth of his presence. She nodded slowly, her hands coming up to rest against the intricate gold trim of his uniform.
"I am now," she replied softly.
Ethan leaned down, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to her forehead. "I told you, you never have to bow to these people. You are my queen. This whole empire answers to you."
He wrapped a protective arm around her waist, turning away from the trembling crowd. With the same confident, heavy strides that had silenced the room, Ethan led Clara toward the exit. The bodyguards fell into a tight formation around them, parting the crowd like the Red Sea.
The elite guests scrambled out of their way, pressing themselves against the glass walls to avoid even brushing against the Commander's shadow. The grand glass doors slid open once more, revealing the sleek, black armored vehicles waiting in the cool New York night.
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As they walked out, Clara glanced back one last time over her shoulder. The room that had felt like a suffocating cage just minutes ago now looked incredibly small. Victoria and Veronica were sobbing on the pristine white floor, surrounded by shattered crystal, entirely ignored by the very society they had tried so hard to impress.
Clara turned back to her husband, leaning her head against his powerful shoulder as they stepped out into the night. Under the protective watch of the Commander-in-Chief, beneath the fluttering American flag, Clara finally knew true peace. The wolves had been silenced, and she was walking away with the king.
