You had been standing by the side, watching as a woman flirted with Sisifo. Her laughter, light and carefree, echoed in the space between you. Her hand brushed against his arm too casually, and you felt a flicker of discomfort deep in your chest. You knew Sisifo was loyal, a man of honor, but the sight of someone so forward with him tugged at you in ways you couldn’t ignore.

Sisifo, ever the gentleman, didn’t react immediately. His focus remained on the conversation, his polite smile unwavering. But you could see the subtle shift in his posture. He knew. He always knew.

Just as you were about to turn away, retreating into yourself, you felt him move. There was no grand gesture, no words, just the quiet certainty of him stepping beside you. His hand found its way to the small of your back, grounding you, and with a soft but firm touch, he pulled you closer to him.

His gaze met yours—calm, steady, and full of quiet reassurance. He didn’t need to say anything. His loyalty, his feelings for you, were clear in every small action he took. The woman, seeing the connection, understood immediately, stepping back with an apologetic smile.

“You have nothing to worry about,” Sisifo’s voice was soft, yet his presence commanded reassurance. "I belong to no one but you."

It wasn’t boastful. It was simply the truth. And with that, you felt the weight of your doubt lift, replaced by the certainty that his heart, like his honor, was steadfast and true.