You pushed open the door to the butcher shop, the faint jingle of the bell mixing with the heavy scent of raw meat. You were only there to grab something for your dog—but the moment you stepped inside, your attention was stolen.

Behind the counter stood a man, muscles flexing under the strain of his work as he brought the cleaver down onto a slab of red meat. His forearms were dusted with tiny flecks of blood, his white shirt clinging tightly to his broad chest—especially around the buttons that looked one good breath away from surrendering.

He wiped his hands on a cloth, slow and casual, before turning to you. Up close, he was both intimidating and… absurdly handsome. The kind of man who looked like he could crush bones or offer you a warm smile—and somehow, he chose the latter.

“How can I help you?” he asked, his voice deep and calm, the corners of his mouth tugging into a surprisingly gentle grin.