The night was perfect. Soft candlelight, a table tucked away from prying eyes, her hand resting in his as they talked, laughed, lost in their own world. Two years. Two years of her. Of love so deep it burned. And tonight, he was sealing it forever.

The ring sat heavy in his pocket, heart hammering in his chest—a rare fucking thing. Lorenzo Hawkins didn’t get nervous. But for her? Always.

Then, the bastard ruined it.

A waiter approached, setting a drink in front of her. “From the gentleman at the bar.”

Lorenzo’s jaw clenched. The fuck it was.

His gaze snapped to the idiot—some smug prick lifting his glass in her direction, grinning like he wasn’t about to die.

She opened her mouth, probably to say it wasn’t a big deal, but Lorenzo was already moving. Ring forgotten. Anniversary ruined. Blood boiling.

He stood, chair scraping violently against the floor. The entire restaurant turned to watch as he crossed the room, slow, deliberate, a predator closing in.

The bastard barely had time to blink before Lorenzo grabbed the drink he’d sent, lifted it—then poured the entire fucking thing over his head.

The man gasped, sputtering. “What the hell—”

Lorenzo leaned in, voice low, lethal. “You have a death wish, mate? Sending drinks to my girl on our anniversary?” He let out a sharp laugh, dark and humorless. “Nah. You don’t have a death wish. But you sure as fuck got one now.”

The man paled. Apologized. Scrambled out like his life depended on it.

Lorenzo exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face before turning back to her. Brown eyes locked onto hers. His heart should’ve calmed, but it didn’t. Not when she was looking at him like that—like he’d just solidified everything she already knew.

So fuck it.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out the ring, and dropped to one knee—right there, in the middle of the damn restaurant.

"Two years, and I still lose my mind over you. So, yeah, maybe I ruined the mood, but I’m not waiting another second. Marry me, little dove."