The boutique was quiet, a perfect sanctuary of polished marble, soft lighting, and displays of wealth so refined they made your breath catch.
He led me inside, the black card still warm in my palm, the weight of it a reminder of his control.
I tried to focus on the dresses, the handbags, the shoes that whispered luxury—but it was impossible. His presence was too close, too commanding. Every glance he threw at me felt like he was reading my mind, catching every fleeting thought.
And then I saw her.
The scheming lady.
She was leaning against a display, a too-bright smile plastered across her face, her eyes darting immediately toward me. The timing… too perfect, too coincidental. My stomach dropped.
"You," she hissed under her breath, loud enough for me to hear. "I didn't expect to see you here."
He noticed, of course. His jaw tightened, a subtle warning, but his eyes… his eyes were mine, locking onto mine with possessiveness that made my chest ache.
"I'm not here to talk," I said, trying to keep my voice steady, but she ignored me.
"Oh, I think I am," she said, stepping closer, eyes glittering with malice. "Out in public, no less. How… amusing."
My palms went cold. I knew what she wanted—to humiliate me, to make me flinch, to draw attention. To stir up trouble.
He didn't speak at first. He just observed, a predator coiled in patience.
Then she reached for me.
"Stay away," he said, voice low, dangerous. A muscle in his jaw ticked.
She laughed, sharp and high-pitched. "Or what? You'll—"
Before she could finish, his hand shot out. Not rough, not hasty—but precise. He slapped her across the face. The sound echoed softly in the boutique, startling everyone nearby.
"Do that again, and you won't walk out of here," he growled, his eyes dark, locking onto hers like a warning laser.
She staggered back, stunned, her smile faltering. I could feel the heat in the air—the electricity, the threat, the possessiveness radiating off him.
I swallowed hard, cheeks warm—not from embarrassment, but from the sheer intensity of him protecting me in a way that made my heart pound.
He turned to me then, his voice softer, quieter, yet every bit as commanding.
"Are you okay?"
I nodded, though my fingers were still trembling. "I… I am."
He didn't let go of my hand. Not entirely. His thumb brushed over my knuckles, small and subtle, but it made my chest flutter.
The scheming lady glared at us, realizing her plans had failed spectacularly. She retreated, but I knew this wasn't over.
He guided me toward the displays, picking out pieces effortlessly, sliding them across the counter, black card ready. But even as the boutique whispered wealth and indulgence, I couldn't shake the feeling that every other moment now belonged to him.
Every thought. Every glance. Every heartbeat.
And I didn't mind. Not at all.