Hua Jing blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
She stared at Zhao Yan, completely thrown off.
He was still looking at her.
Not blinking.
Not moving.
Not even acknowledging the nobleman's accusation anymore.
It was as if—the entire world had disappeared, leaving only the two of them standing in the middle of it.
And then, before she could fully process the shift in his aura, he moved.
Swift. Unyielding. Decisive.
His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest.
A collective gasp rippled through the gathered crowd.
Some women covered their mouths, while the men frowned, whispering among themselves.
The nobleman who had been yelling the loudest turned an alarming shade of red, looking moments away from fainting from sheer outrage.
But none of that mattered.
Not to Zhao Yan.
Not right now.
Because ever since she had uttered those words—
"My husband."
Nothing else had entered his ears.
Not the murmurs.
Not the accusations.
