The thunderous applause washed over them, but Dallas didn’t break his stare from the dark glass of the second-floor balcony.

He guided Eliza forward, his hand resting a little heavier on her waist.

Azalea led them to a secluded, ultra-luxurious velvet seating area near the edge of the ballroom. A crystal bucket of ice and Eliza’s favorite non-alcoholic sparkling water were already waiting on the table.

As they settled in, the crowd of European old money kept their distance, offering deep, respectful nods from afar.

Mia Royal stood stiffly beside the sofa, holding a silver tray of delicate French pastries. Her knuckles were white from gripping the metal so hard.

Azalea sat down next to Eliza. She glanced up at Mia, a wicked, vindictive smirk playing on her lips. She reached out and drew her forward by the wrist.

“This is Mia,” Azalea said casually. “She’s a distant cousin. And currently, my personal assistant.”

Mia’s face flushed a deep, humiliating crimson. But she didn’t dare move. She lowered her eyes to the floor and dropped into a deep, trembling curtsy before Dallas and Eliza.

Dallas didn’t even look at her.

He leaned back against the velvet cushions, his presence radiating a cold, suffocating pressure. To him, the girl was nothing more than furniture.

Mia’s breathing hitched. The sheer terror of standing before the man who had just blown up the Geneva underworld was making her physically dizzy.

Just as her knees began to tremble, Eliza moved.

She reached out and gently placed her fingers beneath the edge of the silver tray, steadying it.

“Stand up, Mia,” Eliza said.

Her voice wasn’t loud, but it carried the undeniable, settled authority of a true matriarch. Not cruel. Simply calm and absolute.

Mia straightened slowly, her eyes wide and frightened as they finally found Eliza’s face.

Eliza didn’t sneer. She didn’t mention the garden party where Mia had tried to humiliate Azalea. Instead, she offered a warm, perfectly polite smile and reached out to take a small pink macaron from the tray.

“These look wonderful,” Eliza said softly. “Thank you for making sure we were taken care of tonight. I appreciate it.”

The simple, gracious words hit Mia harder than a physical blow.

The terror drained from her body, replaced by a wave of profound, overwhelming relief. She understood in that moment that true power had no need to scream or bully.

Mia bowed her head — this time out of genuine, deep respect. “It is my honor, Mrs. Koch.”

Azalea watched the exchange. Her smirk faded into a look of quiet admiration. Her mother had just secured the absolute loyalty of a Royal family insider without shedding a single drop of blood.

Dallas watched his wife. The coldness in his eyes dissolved into a dark, consuming devotion.

He reached over and took Eliza’s left hand. He didn’t say anything. He simply used his thumb to trace slow, rhythmic circles over the face of her diamond wedding ring — a somatic anchor confirming she was really sitting beside him.

Then the massive crystal chandeliers dimmed.

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