Chapter 979

If Rosalind were a few years younger, she might have squealed like an excited fan, hands pressed to her cheeks, whispering, "You're incredible!"

Just then, Reginald stormed into the scene. The moment he saw Lucian engaged in the brawl, his expression darkened. "You dare lay a hand on my best friend? You're all going to regret this!"

Without hesitation, he snatched up a half-empty beer bottle and lunged into the fray.

Rosalind watched him, a strange warmth flickering in her chest. Despite Reginald's occasional recklessness and the way Genevieve had manipulated him, his loyalty to Lucian was unshakable.

The bar descended into chaos—glass shattered, chairs toppled, and panicked patrons scrambled for the exits.

Genevieve and Isabella were still locked in their own petty scuffle, hair tangled, nails digging into each other's arms. But when the commotion reached their ears, a few of the wealthy socialites nearby shouted, "Stop! There's a fight—Lucian Graves is involved!"

That finally snapped them out of it.

Breathing heavily, they pulled apart, their designer dresses wrinkled, makeup smudged.

"What happened?" Genevieve demanded.

"Someone harassed Rosalind Fairchild," one of them explained, wide-eyed. "And Mr. Graves lost it."

"Whoever messed with her must have a death wish," another muttered. "Of course he'd step in."

Lucian Graves—fighting in a bar—over Rosalind?

Genevieve and Isabella exchanged a glance before rushing forward. When they saw Lucian, their breath caught.

They had seen him in boardrooms, cold and untouchable. They had watched him dismantle business rivals without breaking a sweat.

But this?

This was something else entirely.

Jealousy twisted inside them, sharp enough to draw blood. They had been clawing at each other like animals, and yet he was out here, throwing punches for her.

It made them look like fools.

Rosalind stood frozen in the corner, her hands pressed protectively over her stomach. She didn't dare move—not when she was already so weak, not when she had this fragile life to protect.

She couldn't risk it.

Couldn't risk him.

Then—

A burly bodyguard spotted her. His lips curled into a sneer as he swung a shattered beer bottle straight at her head.

Rosalind's breath hitched.

Time slowed.

She couldn't move.

Couldn't scream.

Just as the glass was about to connect—

A dark figure blurred in front of her. Strong arms wrapped around her waist, yanking her against a solid chest.

The bottle shattered against the wall behind them.

Rosalind looked up.

Lucian's sleeve was torn, a deep gash running along his forearm, blood dripping onto the floor.

He had taken the hit for her.

"You're hurt!" Her voice shook as she pressed her hands against the wound, her fingers trembling.

Lucian smirked, his breath warm against her ear. "Quite the spectacle you've caused. All these men, fighting over you."

Rosalind's lips parted in disbelief.

What was that supposed to mean? She hadn't asked for any of this!

Still, guilt gnawed at her. This was her fault. He was bleeding because of her.

Just then, security finally stormed in, along with Lucian's men. Within moments, the chaos was under control.

Reginald jogged over, wiping blood from his split lip. "Lucian, you alright?"

"I'm fine," Lucian said flatly.

Reginald eyed the wound. "That's not fine. You need stitches."