114 — Zander POV
It all happens in slow motion.
One second, I'm squeezing his hand under the table, trying to calm myself. The next—
Ivan is moving.
Before my brain can even process it, he's up. One hand planted on the table, body already half over it—eyes blazing. Ready to lunge straight at my grandfather.
And honestly?
I've never seen anything sexier.
But—this is not the place.
I shoot out of my chair, grabbing him around the waist and hauling him back before he can claw the old bastard's face off.
"What do you think you're doing?!" someone shouts, voice sharp with outrage.
"He tried to attack him!" another voice—one of my uncles, I think—snaps, practically leaping to his feet.
The whole table is in chaos now. Chairs scraping, cutlery clattering. Servants frozen at the edges of the room.
And right in the middle of it—
Ivan.
Thrashing in my arms. Furious. Trembling with rage. His eyes locked on my grandfather—sharp, burning, wild.
Teeth bared. Chest heaving. Practically vibrating with the need to rip the old man apart.
"No one speaks to my fucking fiancé like that!!" he screams, trying to twist out of my grip, fighting to launch himself across the table.
My grandfather—cold, expressionless for most of his life—now stares at Ivan with something that almost looks like shock.
It's the most expression I've seen on the old man's face in years.
And gods... if I wasn't already in love with this fiery, reckless, beautiful omega—this would've been the exact moment I lost my mind for him.
"Ivan." I murmur low, trying to calm him. I tighten my hold.
But he's having none of it.
"Let me at him!!!" he shouts again.
"Let me claw his fucking face off!!"
The whole room gasps. More shocked whispers.
Another uncle stands, pointing an accusing finger. "Zander, control your omega—!"
Yeah—clearly dinner is over.
I sigh inwardly.
With one swift move—I shift, grip him around the waist, and hoist him right over my shoulder.
He yelps—still wriggling and furious—but he's up there now, one perfect omega draped over my back like an angry, swearing sack of gold.
"Put me down!!"
"Not a chance," I mutter.
"Clearly someone needs to smack some sense into him!!!" Ivan shouts over my shoulder, still kicking lightly, his rage undimmed.
I walk away, ignoring the gasps and stares thrown our way. And—I won't lie—my heart is giddy.
I can feel the heat of every stare in the room—every gasp, every horrified expression—as I stride for the doors.
But honestly? I couldn't care less.
My heart is giddy. Absolutely giddy.
"If you think this is over—you're wrong!! You old fossil—!!" he roars.
I chuckle under my breath. Gods, I adore this man.
I smack his thigh lightly. "Enough, love."
And without looking back—ignoring the stunned room behind me—I carry my beautiful, furious fiancé straight out of that suffocating place.
And I've never been happier.
Maksim is already waiting in the car. The moment we step outside, the cold night air hits us. Ivan's still seething on my shoulder, muttering curses under his breath.
I set him down gently, cupping his face between my hands.
He's flushed—eyes still blazing, lips parted, breath ragged.
"I love you," I murmur, forehead pressed to his.
He scowls, still panting. "I swear to the heavens above—if you hadn't stopped me—"
Slowly, the tension in his shoulders starts to ease. The fire in his eyes dims—just a little.
"Idiots," he mutters. "All of them. Ugh."
I grin and kiss his forehead. "I couldn't agree more."