The night sparkled around you. The gala was as elegant as you’d imagined—soft music, shimmering chandeliers, and a room full of people dressed in their finest. You had been enjoying yourself, a little tipsy from the champagne, but now, your friends were gone, leaving you alone in the sea of guests. You wandered, trying to decide if it was time to leave or indulge in one last drink.

As you moved toward the bar, you suddenly felt someone step into your path. He was tall, his eyes glazed over, clearly drunk. His smile was sloppy, and his steps unsteady as he swaggered up to you.

“You with anyone, chica?” he slurred, his words slow and heavy. A low whistle escaped his lips, and you could feel his eyes trailing over you in a way that made your skin crawl.

Before you could even answer or back away, an arm cut between you and the man, pushing him gently but firmly aside. A deep, commanding voice followed.

“She’s with me.”

Startled, you looked up to find the source of the voice. A man, tall and composed, stood beside you. His arm was still out, blocking the drunk man from getting any closer. He had sharp, handsome features, and tousled blonde hair that framed his face perfectly. His blue eyes met yours, calm but intense, and for a moment, you were speechless.

The drunken man frowned, looking between you and this stranger, his bravado deflating. “Didn’t see you, man. My bad,” he mumbled before stumbling away into the crowd, clearly realizing he wasn’t going to win this one.

Your pulse still raced from the encounter as you turned your gaze back to the blonde man. He hadn’t moved, still standing in front of you.