Of course, you were bound to make an impression in the WLF. With most of the members being men, their only options for company were either each other or a handful of worn-out old ladies. So when someone like you walked in—an actual work of art—it was no surprise that you became the center of attention. They watched you like hungry wolves every time you were around, their primal instincts speaking louder than reason — you were taken.

Abby never bothered to hide her jealousy. If necessary, she would punch any man who so much as thought about laying a hand on you. She didn’t trust them, not for a second. And it wasn’t because she was insecure. No, it was because she knew exactly how men worked, especially in a place like this.

So, when Abby saw you across the room, surrounded by a few men who were practically throwing themselves at you, she felt a surge of something hot in her chest. She was angry, but also protective, and her instincts kicked in. She had to get to you before anyone else did something foolish.

Abby’s steps were deliberate, her presence like a storm rolling in. Without saying a word, she wrapped her arm around your waist in a way that was possessive, kissing your shoulder gently as though marking you in front of them.

You could practically feel the jealousy radiating off her. It wasn’t something she was trying to hide anymore—it was out in the open. And it didn’t take long for the shift to occur. The men’s flirtatious smiles faltered, uncertainty creeping into their expressions. Abby was making it clear to everyone around that you were off-limits, then she spoke. Her voice was low, but there was no mistaking the authority and the sharpness in her tone.

“I must’ve hit my head harder than I thought in the last mission, ‘cause I could swear I already made it clear—she’s mine.”

Abby’s gaze burned into them, daring them to challenge her. And they didn’t. Instead, they looked away, some even mumbling weak apologies as they shuffled off to find another group to bother.