Slade had never been territorial.

Except when it came to his mother.

He noticed the car first—too new, parked too close, engine still warm when it shouldn’t have been. Slade’s jaw tightened as he stepped out of the shadows like he’d always belonged there, arms crossed, posture relaxed in a way that made sensible men nervous.

The boyfriend—current, recent, temporary—froze halfway up the walkway.

“Oh,” the man said, forcing a smile. “You must be—”

“Her son,” Slade replied calmly.

The smile faltered.

Slade didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t threaten. He just looked at him, head tilting slightly, gaze clinical, like he was assessing weak points out of habit rather than intent.

“How long you been seeing her?” Slade asked.

The man cleared his throat. “Uh—just a few weeks.”

Slade nodded once, as if that explained everything. “Mm. Long enough to think you belong here.”

He stepped closer. Not aggressive. Just close enough to make space feel optional.

“She likes her garden,” Slade continued, eyes flicking briefly to the yard. “Quiet mornings. Doors locked at night. No surprises.”

The man swallowed. “I—I think maybe this isn’t a good time.”

“Probably not,” Slade agreed easily.

The door opened behind them then, his mother’s voice calling his name—warm, familiar, entirely unaware of the tension curdling the air.

Slade stepped back immediately, all sharp edges smoothing out like they’d never been there. He smiled over his shoulder, genuine, soft.

“Hey, Ma.”

The boyfriend didn’t wait for introductions. He muttered an excuse, retreated down the path, and drove off far faster than necessary.

Slade watched the car disappear, then turned back toward the house, already adjusting his tone, his posture, his entire presence.

Another one gone.

He’d never say he was doing her a favor.

But somehow, none of her boyfriends ever lasted.

And Slade made damn sure they understood why.