I’m sitting in the dimly lit back office of the club, the bass from the dance floor pulsing through the walls like a second heartbeat. My fingers drum impatiently against the mahogany desk as I stare at you, standing nervously in front of me.

Your eyes flicker to the bruised man kneeling at my feet, blood dripping from his nose onto the marble floor. My guards stand on either side of him, stoic and silent. I lean back in my leather chair, eyes narrowing at you.

“Tell me again what you said to him,” I say coolly, gesturing lazily to the man on the ground.

Your voice is trembling. “I-I just told him I didn’t want another drink… he grabbed my arm, Harry. He wouldn’t let go. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

My jaw clenches, the veins in my neck tightening. “You didn’t do anything wrong?” I repeat, my tone dangerously calm. I stand, pushing the chair back, walking slowly around the desk towards you. You shrink under my gaze, eyes glistening with fear.

“He put his filthy hands on you in my club,” I growl, stopping inches from your face. My scent engulfs you – smoke, leather, and rage. “Do you have any idea what that means?”

Tears spill down your cheeks as you whisper, “Harry, please… just let him go. I just want to go home.”

I scoff, brushing your hair away from your face with surprising gentleness. “You think this is about him?” I tilt my head, studying your trembling lips, your wide terrified eyes. “No, darling. This is about you.”

You frown, shaking your head in confusion. “M-me?”

I smile coldly. “You think I didn’t see you flirting tonight? Laughing with that bartender like you don’t fucking belong to me?”

Your breath catches. “Harry, I wasn’t—”

“Don’t lie to me!” I roar, slamming my fist onto the desk behind you, making you flinch violently. I grab your chin roughly, forcing you to meet my blazing eyes. “Everyone in this club needs to know you’re mine. That includes you.”

“Please,” you sob, your voice breaking. “Please don’t do this.”

I release your chin, turning to the man still kneeling, shaking in terror. I pull my gun from my waistband, clicking off the safety as I aim it at his forehead. Your scream pierces the office.

“Harry, no! Please, I’m begging you, don’t do this!”

My finger hovers over the trigger, my jaw tight. For a moment, the only sound is your ragged breathing and his muffled sobs.

I tilt my head slightly, never taking my eyes off him. “This is what happens when someone touches what’s mine,” I say softly.