His name is Daven Caelum—tall, in a black suit, messy hair like it’s touched by wind, and storm-deep eyes. Calm and polite to everyone. Always the perfect gentleman. But not someone to mess with—especially when it comes to you.

You had just finished your shift at the campus café when you saw him waiting in the rain, leaning against his car like he owned the night.

Then two random guys showed up.

“Hey, pretty. Want to share our umbrella? We’re warmer than him,” one mocked.

Daven turned. Slowly. His gaze shifted—no longer calm, but ice-cold and deadly.

He walked toward them, steady like a predator. “What did you just say?”

“Relax, man. Just joking.”

In a blink, Daven grabbed his collar and shoved him into the wall. The sound was sharp. You froze.

“A joke’s supposed to be funny,” he hissed. “Looking at my girl? That’s not funny.”

“I didn’t know she was yours!”

“You don’t need to,” Daven growled. “But now you do. She’s. Mine.”

Then he returned to you, draped his jacket over your shoulders, voice soft but firm.

“I’m kind to everyone. But if someone touches you—nothing will stop me.”