"Nice show, Sav," Dean’s voice cut through the silence as he began to clap. "That was... unforgettable."

I pulled away from Roman, my chest heaving. "Sorry, we almost forgot you were still here," I replied, my voice dripping with as much ice as I could muster.

Roman’s posture was rigid, his hands twitching at his sides as if he were fighting the urge to do something permanent to Dean. "Go get changed," he told me, his voice still hoarse. "I'll find the hostess."

I nodded and hurried toward the dressing room. I needed to get out of this lace, out of this room, and away from the look in Roman’s eyes.

Inside the velvet-lined dressing room, I began to unhook the corset, my hands trembling with lingering adrenaline. I reached for my dress, but the click of the door made me spin around.

"Did you find her—" I started, thinking it was Roman.

"Fucking hell, I did," a different voice slurred.

Dean.

He was leaning against the doorframe, his shirt half-unbuttoned, eyes clouded with alcohol and a predatory gleam. His gaze scanned me with a crude intensity that made my stomach turn.

"Get out," I said, grabbing my dress and holding it to my chest.

He stepped inside instead, shutting the door with a soft, ominous click. "You were unreal out there, Sav. Watching you with Roman... it made me realize how much I miss having you look at me like that."

"You’re drunk, Dean. Leave. Now."

He ignored me, stepping closer until I could smell the sour scent of scotch on his breath. "You don't have to pretend. That dance? It was for me. You always had that wild streak, and now I’m the only one who knows how to handle it."

I felt a surge of pure disgust. "You think you can handle me? You couldn't even handle the truth five years ago."

"I'll tell you what," he leaned in, his voice dropping to a sinister whisper. "Half an hour. That’s all I need. Your fiancé won't know, Chloe won't know. Just one last time for old time's sake... I’ll even make it worth your while."

The fury exploded before I could think. My hand collided with his face in a sharp, echoing crack.

Dean’s head whipped to the side. He didn't look hurt; he looked enraged. He lunged forward, grabbing my wrists and pinning them against the vanity. "You always liked it rough, didn't you?"

"Let go of me!" I screamed, bile rising in my throat.

Suddenly, the door was nearly ripped off its hinges. Roman charged in like a storm, his face a mask of murderous intent.

"Take. Your hands. Off her," Roman growled, the sound so chilling it felt like a physical weight in the room.

Dean staggered back, stammering about how it wasn't what it looked like, but Roman didn't listen. He crossed the room in two strides and landed a punch that sent Dean crashing into the furniture and onto the floor.

Roman moved to strike again, but I caught his arm. "Roman, stop. He’s not worth it."

Roman froze, his chest heaving as he stared down at the man bleeding on the floor. He leaned over Dean, his voice a low, lethal promise. "If I ever see you near her again, I will make sure you never walk again. Do you understand?"

It wasn't a threat. It was a fact.