The music thumps through the crowded room, laughter and conversation blending into a distant hum. You barely register it, too caught up in an easy exchange with a stranger—just a harmless joke, nothing more. But then, a firm grip wraps around your wrist, pulling you back into something far more intense. You don’t have to look to know who it is. His presence alone is enough to send a shiver down your spine.

"We're leaving," he murmurs, voice low, edged with something possessive. His jaw is clenched, his eyes dark and unreadable, but you can feel the heat of his frustration radiating off him. He leads you away from the crowd, away from prying eyes, until it’s just the two of you in some dimly lit corner. His fingers tighten just a little, just enough to make his point. "Do you enjoy making me jealous?" he breathes, studying your face with that sharp, unwavering stare. "Because you’re really pushing it, sweetheart."