CHAPTER 4
When their eyes met, the world faded away. The laughter, the chatter, and the constant click of cameras, and a group of musicians at the side playing a romantic song quieted into silence. For a brief moment, it felt like they were the only two people in that garden.
Claudia's voice disappeared. The crowd, the cameras, the flashes—all of it.
Xavion's gray eyes locked onto hers.
He didn't respond right away. He simply stared, trying to read her expression—trying to figure out if she was teasing him, mocking him, or just playing along with the chaos.
His pulse ticked once, hard.
Then his lips parted slightly, his voice low and smooth but filled with surprise and amusement.
"You want a picture with me?" He asked to confirm that he heard her correctly. He didn't realize that he was slightly crouching for her to hear him through the noises, or maybe he just wanted to look much closer. His body automatically moved on its own, as if he was being pulled down by invisible hands.
Damn it. Alisson couldn't help but curse inwardly. Those damn gray irises… She felt like she had been struck by lightning by their stormy color. They were so gray that it seemed like a calamity was brewing in them. Her smile almost faltered as he looked closer, down on her. But not that close that he was being presumptuous. More like he just wanted to hear her out of all the voices around, especially from the girls right behind her.
Then the moment broke.
The girls around Claudia noticed someone standing behind her. One nudged the others and pointed at the slim figure in white.
Claudia turned and immediately tried to grab the woman who was bold enough to get through her. With a sharp voice she called, "Hey, who are—"
Claudia had just started to turn when Xavion's gaze lifted sharply over Alisson's shoulder. He caught the movement instantly—Claudia's hand shooting forward to grab Alisson.
Before Alisson could even register it, Xavion moved.
His arm cut between them in one swift motion, fingers locking around Claudia's wrist with controlled precision. He crouched low at Alisson's side, so quickly and so close that his left shoulder nearly brushed her nose. She could feel his warmth radiating off him. The suddenness made her eyes widen, a small inhale catching in her throat—along with the clean, expensive scent of him, all cool spice and restraint.
Then she heard his voice, deep and close just behind her jaw.
"Don't."
He released Claudia's hand just as Alisson turned. Claudia stood there frozen, stunned that he'd stopped her so effortlessly—and even more stunned by the sharp irritation now written across his face. The easygoing man from minutes ago was gone. This was a version of Xavion that didn't play along.
His eyes cut through all of them. "Kindly back off. All of you." And he shifted his eyes to the girl who started it. "You too, Claudia."
The group of girls stiffened. Alisson only smiled—calm, unbothered, as if nothing had happened, like this was the most normal thing in the world. Then she met Claudia's eyes directly. She didn't know her, but she could feel something off. A different kind of hostility. A challenge.
She kept smiling anyway.
A murmur rippled through the crowd as the girls behind Claudia suddenly recognized her—the bride's daughter. Claudia recognized her too, and somehow the realization only deepened the annoyance curling on her lips.
Xavion straightened to his full height. He gestured to the side. His voice was stern. "Can someone clear this area?"
Some event organizers, noticing the change in tone, rushed over. They politely intervened, urging the guests to move back. "Ladies, please settle down. You'll have time for pictures later. The program's about to start."
The murmurs and protests faded. Claudia glared at Alisson. Then, in just a blink of an eye, her red lips smirked like it was a 'you brought this upon yourself' hint to her.
Alisson wiggled her brows once, silently responding, 'bring it on.'
Claudia turned around with a flip of her black hair. Slowly, the crowd dispersed.
Xavion exhaled softly, rubbing his jaw before turning back to the woman who stood too close to him. He adjusted his suit and returned his hands to his pockets.
Her face tilted slightly upward, eyes calm and unbothered, with a hint of amusement at the corners of her lips. She still felt a little lightheaded from their close proximity, even just for a few seconds. And she kept in mind that he could have pulled her to him earlier if he wanted to when he crouched suddenly to block the woman so that he could protect her better, but he didn't. His other hand remained inside his pocket. And for now, he was looking calmly at her.
"I'm sorry about that," he said quietly. "You were about to get pulled into their scene."
She shrugged lightly. "I don't mind. I cut in line—it's kind of expected." She somehow knew that there would be more trouble if she meddled, but still, she did. She was just trying her luck to have a closer look at him.
Xavion blinked, taken aback by her openness.
Then she added with a small smirk, "So, can we take that picture now?"
For a moment, he could only stare at her, his gray eyes narrowing slightly in disbelief. Was she really serious about it? He thought that she was somehow trying to disperse the girls for him. Whatever. It doesn't matter.
Then, slowly, a laugh escaped him—low, genuine, unexpected. "Of course," he finally said.
He nodded to one of the photographers, but before he could pose, the others had already begun snapping photos, sensing the perfect moment.
Alisson half-smiled, stepped up to the platform beside him, blinking away from the flashes, and for the first time, she got a much closer look at him. He was even more striking up this close. That faint, easy smile of his could melt armor.
Without hesitation, she linked her arm through his.
Xavion's brows shot up as he felt her hand on his arm, pulling him closer. He looked down just as she turned her face toward the camera—her expression a perfect mix of confidence and allure.
Alisson knew in herself that she was beautiful. And for her, he was her perfect counterpart.
The cameras erupted.
Before the next flash, she reached up, took her sunglasses from her head, and, without asking, slipped them into the front pocket of his coat.
Xavion froze. Then he looked down at her again, a smile tugging at his lips. His brow arched up.
Her only response was a slight wiggle of satisfaction, her faint perfume drifting upward like a hint of rebellion.
The photographers went wild. The crowd murmured. Even from a distance, their chemistry was hard to miss.
But then, something changed. He felt her hand tighten around his arm. Too tightly. He looked down again.
The smile was gone from her lips.
Her eyes squeezed shut against the sudden, relentless flicker of flashes. She raised a hand to shield them, muttering something he couldn't quite hear.
"What's—" he started, but before he could reach for her, she pulled away.
"I'm sorry—excuse me," she said quickly, her voice faint. And then she was gone—turning, almost running, vanishing through the crowd like a white streak against the darkening sky.
Xavion stood there, still half-posed for a photo, cameras flashing uselessly around him.
He blinked once, disoriented. His gaze instinctively followed her retreating figure, the faint flutter of her dress catching the evening light.
Just as he was about to take a step after her, he heard his father's voice calling from the other side of the platform.
"Xavion, son, come here!"
He stopped.
The noise of the crowd rushed back in—the laughter, the flashes, the voices. The moment was lost. But her image—those hazel eyes and that fearless smile—lingered in his mind like an afterimage burned by lightning.