Slade didn’t interfere outright.

That would be sloppy.

He just… adjusted variables.

A date canceled because a sudden “security concern” shut down the restaurant for the night. A new boyfriend who decided—very abruptly—that this city wasn’t for him after a quiet, unsettling conversation in a parking garage. Flowers that never quite made it to the door.

Coincidences stacked neatly.

Slade observed from a distance, arms crossed, expression unreadable as yet another potential romance dissolved before it could root. He told himself it wasn’t jealousy. It was vetting. Risk assessment. A public service, really.

“These men,” he muttered once, reviewing a background check, “are deeply unqualified.”

He never raised his voice. Never made threats that could be traced. He didn’t need to. His reputation did most of the work for him; the rest was timing and pressure applied in the right places.

She deserved peace. Stability. Someone who wouldn’t complicate her life.

And if no one else met that standard?

Slade exhaled slowly, gaze steady.

Then no one else would.

He wasn’t trying to win her back.

He was just making sure the field stayed… clear.

Because some habits—like guarding what once mattered—were harder to break than any vow.