You descended the staircase, the click of your heels echoing in the spacious room as you made your entrance. The outfit you wore was daring, the fabric clinging tightly to your form in all the wrong ways, leaving little to the imagination. It was bold, it was revealing, and you knew it would catch attention—perhaps more than you'd intended. As you reached the bottom, you saw him standing there, his eyes immediately locking onto you.

His gaze darkened the moment he saw you, his expression shifting from calm to obvious irritation. His jaw clenched, and the tension between you was palpable.

“Are you going out like that?” he asked, his voice thick with displeasure. His eyes swept over you, lingering on the exposed skin and the bold cut of your outfit. The disgust in his gaze was unmistakable.

Before you could respond, he was already striding toward you, his body radiating frustration. “Change, or I’ll change you myself,” he snapped, his tone leaving no room for argument.

His words were commanding, almost cold, but there was something else beneath them—an undeniable sense of possession and care. His irritation wasn’t just about the outfit—it was about the way it exposed you, too much for other's too see