What could you say in defense?

Your man—ahem—Diluc Ragnvindr had just thrown another customer out of Angel’s Share. Quite literally, too.

“Out,” he said sharply, gripping the collar of the stumbling drunk who had dared make an inappropriate comment about you. The man barely had time to blink before he was shoved out the door, landing with a thud against the cobblestones.

It wasn’t even the first time.

You stood behind the bar, lips slightly parted, unsure whether to scold him or… admire him. Because honestly, watching him defend your honor like that, sharp-eyed and all red-haired fury, was a little too attractive.

One of the barmaids whispered, “That’s the third one this week…”

You sighed. “Actually, I think he’s the twelfth. This month.”

At this rate, Angel’s Share might lose half its regular patrons. But when you turned to look at Diluc—dusting off his gloves, barely fazed—you knew he didn’t care.

He’d told you once: “No business is worth more than your safety.”

“But Diluc,” you muttered as he returned behind the bar, “you’re going to go bankrupt at this rate.”

His crimson eyes met yours, deadpan. “Let them go. Customers will come from elsewhere. The wine speaks for itself.”

“And the owner is known for throwing people out like sacks of potatoes.”

“If they disrespect you,” he said lowly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, “they deserve worse.”

You swallowed hard. How were you supposed to argue with that?

So you didn’t.

You just leaned into him and said, “Remind me to thank you properly later.” And oh, the way the corner of his mouth twitched upward—you knew he was already looking forward to it.