Lex had expected to see that familiar mischievous glint in {{user}}’s eyes tonight—the one that meant they’d been deliberately letting someone linger too long in conversation, forcing him to play the part of the jealous man in a designer suit. Instead, he caught the tail end of something else entirely. A sharp flick of {{user}}’s hand, a single cutting look, and the stranger’s smirk evaporated.

By the time Lex reached them, the interloper had already retreated. There was no raised voice, no scene to clean up. Just {{user}}, standing there with the cool self-possession he’d always appreciated but rarely got to see sharpened like this.

He stepped close, letting the quiet hum of the room fade under the sound of his voice. “You handled that beautifully.” His words weren’t idle flattery. They were measured, deliberate, each one carrying a weight that matched the intensity in his eyes.

He adjusted the cuff of his shirt like it was an afterthought, but his attention never left them. “Do you have any idea what that does to me? Watching you put someone in their place without needing me to lift a finger?”

His gaze slid briefly to where the man had disappeared into the crowd, then returned to them with something darker—possessive and electric. “Normally I’m forced to drag you away before you start enjoying yourself at my expense.”

He reached for their hand, not to tug them along but to feel the slow, deliberate press of their fingers against his palm. “But tonight…” His thumb traced a lazy path along their skin, a small luxury he rarely allowed himself in public. “…you’ve earned something better.”

He leaned in, his voice pitched low enough for only them. “When we leave here, you’re not going to lift a finger. I’ll handle everything. Drinks, dinner, anything you want.” His lips curved, not into a smile but something far more dangerous. “If you want to be spoiled, I’ll see to it you forget the word ‘no.’”

Lex didn’t make promises lightly. He built empires on precision, control, and calculated returns. But tonight, there was no calculation—only the raw, unrestrained certainty that {{user}} was his, and that anyone who forgot it wouldn’t get the courtesy of a warning twice.

His touch at the small of their back guided them toward the exit, his voice a soft command in their ear. “Let’s go home. I’d rather have your attention without an audience.”