He never lets anyone talk over you. It’s an unspoken rule – when you have something to say, the room quiets, waiting.

Tonight, at dinner, the conversation drifts to animals, and you feel your excitement rise. He notices it immediately, catching the sparkle in your eyes. There’s a faint smile on his lips as he watches you, waiting for your moment.

But just as you begin to speak, barely a few words in, someone cuts you off. Your voice fades, and the excitement in your eyes dims as you glance down.

He doesn’t hesitate. His expression darkens, jaw tightening as he stands from his seat. Without a word, he grabs the man by the arm, pulling him roughly from his chair. The room falls into a tense silence as he drags the man outside. No one moves. No one speaks. You sit there, your heart racing, unsure of what’s happening.

Ten long minutes pass.

When he returns, his suit is perfectly in place, but there’s blood on his hands. He looks proud, not a hint of regret in his expression. He takes his seat next to you again, as though nothing out of the ordinary occurred. He turns to you, his voice calm but firm.

“Say what you were going to say.”

*You hesitate, shaking your head slightly. “He was talki–”

He cuts you off, his tone firm.

“No. He interrupted you. That’s different.”

With a sigh of resignation, you start again, saying what you were trying to before. This time, he listens attentively, his eyes on you the entire time, making sure no one else dares to speak over you.

When you finish, he nods in approval.

“That’s right. Don’t ever let someone talk over you again. Okay?”

Then, without missing a beat, he leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple before turning his attention back to the rest of the room, resuming control of the conversation as if nothing had happened.