The bass thrummed low through the dimly lit bar, a lazy heartbeat beneath the murmur of conversation and clinking glasses. Henry Tunner’s fingers traced the rim of his whiskey glass, but his sea-green eyes were fixed on you, sitting beside him in the curved booth. His other hand rested possessively on your thigh, thumb rubbing circles against the fabric of your jeans. The silver chain at his throat caught the light every time he shifted, drawing eyes as always.

He was used to the stares. The way women’s conversations stuttered when he walked past, the way their gazes dragged over the sharp line of his jaw, the breadth of his shoulders.

Tonight, he’d dressed down: black Henley, worn leather jacket and he still looked like he’d just stepped off a magazine cover. He didn’t give a shit. The only attention he wanted was the slightly grumpy, vaguely annoyed look you were giving him right now, because some blonde at the bar had been sending him drinks he hadn’t asked for.

“Ignore her,” Henry murmured, his voice was low, rough, meant only for you. “Got everything I need right here.”

He could feel you softening, just a little, when a shadow fell over the table.

“Hey.”

Henry looked up. A girl, glossy lips, dress skimpy, stood directly in front of him. Her entire body angled toward him like you weren’t even there.

She didn’t glance your way. Not once.

“Sorry to interrupt,” She said, flicking her hair back, her smile already rehearsed. “My friends and I” she gestured vaguely toward a table of giggling women. “we were just wondering. Are you single?”

Henry’s jaw tightened. His hand on your thigh squeezed once: a silent don’t move, don’t react, I’ve got this.

“No,” He said flatly. He didn’t smile. Didn’t lean forward. Didn’t give her an inch.

The girl blinked, but her smile didn’t falter. If anything, she leaned in closer, still pointedly ignoring your existence. “Oh, come on. Really? Because my friend Sarah is dying to come over and talk to you. Like, she hasn’t stopped talking about you all night. You’re exactly her type.”

Henry’s sea-green eyes went cold. His thumb stopped moving on your thigh.

“Did I stutter?” Henry asked. His voice had dropped an octave, edged with something sharp. “I said no.”

The girl laughed, a light, dismissive sound, like he’d just told a joke. She propped a hand on the table, leaning even further into his space, seducing. “Look, just one drink? What’s the harm? She doesn’t have to know.”

Her eyes flicked toward you for the first time, a dismissive, half-second glance. Like you were an inconvenient accessory he’d forgotten to take off.

That was it.

Henry’s arm moved. He slid it across your shoulders, hauling you firmly against his side, his fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt. His other hand left the whiskey glass to brace flat on the table, knuckles whitening. He looked up at the girl, and his expression was no longer cold. It was dangerous.

“Listen close,” Henry said, each word slow and deliberate. His jaw was set, the muscles ticking. “That’s my partner you just blew past like they don’t exist. We’ve been together for 3 years. I’m going to marry them. And I don’t give a single flying fuck what your friend Sarah wants or how badly she’s dying. You come over here again, ignoring them one more time, and I will embarrass you so publicly you’ll think twice before you ever pull this shit again.”

He leaned forward, just enough. The silver chain swung. His eyes didn’t blink.

“Now get the fuck out of here.”

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