The deafening roar of the club vanished, replaced by a silence so heavy it felt physical. The leader of the thugs, once a towering threat, now lay motionless on the floor, blood pooling around his head.
Standing over him was Quentin. He was motionless, his eyes dark with a cold, murderous intent that made the surrounding crowd recoil. In his hand, he gripped the jagged neck of a broken bottle, red droplets falling one by one onto the grimy floor.
Amanda watched his back, her vision blurred by alcohol and adrenaline. She blinked, pushed a sobbing Celia aside, and staggered toward him. She wrapped her arms around his sleeve, poking her head out from behind his shoulder like a defiant kitten.
"Uncle! Beat him!" she chirped, pointing a shaky finger at the man on the ground. "He tried to hit me! Beat him to death!"
Quentin's throat moved as he swallowed his rage. He dropped the glass, the clatter echoing in the silent room, and turned to wrap his coat around the girl leaning against him.
"Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice low and vibrating with restrained emotion.
Amanda pouted, trying to squirm out of his grip to kick the unconscious man. "I want to hit him again!"
"Mandy, stop it." Quentin tightened his hold, his voice dropping to a warning whisper. "Your brother is here. If you don't behave, I'm calling him over to take you straight to your mother."
The word "Mom" hit Amanda like a bucket of ice water. Even in her drunken state, the fear of Milena Solis was ingrained in her DNA. She immediately tucked her head into Quentin's chest and grumbled, "You're a bad uncle. Using Mom to bully me."
Quentin shook his head, exhausted. Not far away, Diego was indeed there, looking like he wanted to disown everyone present as he tried to coax a hysterical Celia toward the exit.
The arrival of sirens signaled the end of the party. As the police began clearing the bar, Jasper emerged from the wreckage of the fight, his clothes torn but his face—luckily—intact. He marched toward Quentin, his expression darkening when he saw Amanda still clinging to the older man.
Jasper knew Diego, but he also recognized the man currently shielding Amanda as the formidable head of the Harris Corporation.
"Let her go," Jasper demanded, his voice tight with jealousy.
Quentin shot him a look that could have frozen the sun. "I think you have your own problems to worry about, Second Young Master Kent. Fighting in a bar isn't a great look for a rising star."
Jasper felt a chill run down his spine at the mention of his family name, but he didn't back down. "Amanda! Get over here!"
Amanda, acting like a stubborn ostrich with her face buried in Quentin's lapel, peeked out. "What are you shouting for?"
Jasper's temples throbbed. "Come here! Don't you have any shame? Hugging and cuddling a man in public like that?"
In response, Amanda didn't pull away. Instead, she wrapped both arms around Quentin's waist, locking her fingers together. "I like hugging him! What are you going to do about it?"
Quentin felt a rare flash of pride. He shot Jasper a faint, victorious smirk, scooped Amanda up, and strode toward the door.
The "V.I.P." treatment didn't get them out of giving statements, but it did get them a private room at the station.
"Relation to the victim?" the officer asked, looking at Quentin.
"He's my uncle!" Amanda shouted, nearly falling off her chair.
"I'm her husband," Quentin corrected calmly.
"No, he's not!" Amanda wailed, looking like she wanted to fly through the ceiling to escape the word.
The officer looked back and forth between the two, his brow furrowed. "Are you her husband or her kidnapper?"
Quentin sighed. He had expected her to be difficult, but he hadn't realized her "Uncle" circuit was so deeply fried by the vodka. Without a word, he reached into his inner suit pocket and pulled out the small, red marriage certificate he had been carrying since they left the bureau.
He slid it across the desk. "Our certificate."
The officer examined it for a long minute, then slid it back with a wry grin. "Man... you high-society types really know how to roleplay. 'Uncle'? Creative."
Quentin offered a pained, weary smile. "My lawyer is on his way to handle the paperwork. If we're done, I'm taking my wife home."
Seeing that Amanda was currently using the interrogation table as a pillow, the officer waved them off. Quentin bent down, lifted her into his arms, and walked out into the cool night air.
Behind them, Jasper stood in the hallway, looking completely lost. His manager arrived a second later, drenched in sweat and panic. "Jasper! Are you crazy? If this hits the front page tomorrow, your career—"
"If you don't shut up," Jasper snapped, "the headline tomorrow will be 'Actor breaks manager's teeth.' Do I look like I'm in the mood?"
The manager went silent. Jasper touched his cheek, wincing. "At least they didn't hit my face. I'd have had to kill them all."
While Quentin was handling his "wife," Diego was dealing with his own nightmare.
He stood on the sidewalk, one hand on his hip and the other holding Celia's hair back as she clung to a lamp-post, vomiting with enough force to shake her entire body.
"Ugh... I'm dying," Celia sobbed, sliding down the pole to sit on the pavement once she was finished. She looked up at Diego, her makeup smeared and her nose red. "It hurts, Diego. Make it stop."
Diego looked up at the stars, praying for patience. He scooped up the crying, messy girl and carried her back to his car. "I'm taking you home, and then I'm retiring from being a brother."
He tossed her into the backseat and tried to wipe her face with a wet tissue. Celia, too drunk to care about her "noble lady" image, grabbed the tissue and blew her nose with a loud, unladylike honk.
Diego's lip twitched in disgust. He drove her straight to the Lugo estate, carried her to the front door, and practically handed her over to their butler like a ticking time bomb.
"She's all yours," Diego muttered, turning on his heel. "Tell her if she calls me tomorrow, the answer is 'no'."