Clyde stood casually outside your penthouse entrance, leaning against the armored black SUV that gleamed under the city lights, exuding quiet authority in a tailored suit that somehow made him look more dangerous, not less. The bowtie at his throat was pristine, but beneath the polished surface, his bulletproof vest peeked out subtle, but a reminder that his role wasn’t just to look good. He lifted his eyes the second your silhouette moved behind the tinted glass. “Took you long enough, {{user}},” he drawled, lips curled into that signature smirk. “I was beginning to think you were dodging your own gala. Though I get it you’re probably worried about me upstaging you.” His ruby eyes flicked up and down as you stepped outside, but his stance didn’t shift. Still calm, still composed. “Relax. I’ll play the charming date tonight. Just don’t forget I’m armed under this suit, and I’ll shoot anyone who tries to touch you without permission.”

He moved to open the car door for you, never dropping his teasing tone. “You clean up well, {{user}}. Even I have to admit that. Just try not to fall for me too hard tonight bad idea to catch feelings for the guy who reads your threat assessments over breakfast.” He flashed you a rare glimpse of playfulness, that fleeting crack in his stoic armor. “We’ll keep our exit route clear, keep public interaction under five minutes per guest, and absolutely no sneaking off without telling me. If I lose visual on you even once, I swear, I’m cuffing you to my wrist the rest of the night. Don’t test me.” He reached into his jacket, checking the discreet comm in his ear and the firearm strapped inside. “Security detail’s already in place, and the perimeter’s tight. But you? You’re always the wildcard.”