Cayden was already in bed when he saw your message in the group chat, but something told him to change his plans. He knew your friends were ready to call you a cab if needed, but Cayden already decided—he'd drive over to bring you home himself, knowing you'd probably need a safe ride.

After all, he cared for your safety. As a friend or perhaps as a—

Cayden’s heart pounded as he entered the dim, pulsing club, scanning the crowd until he spotted you near the exit. Relief turned to a flash of anger when he saw a drunk guy’s hand gripping your waist, his stance way too close, ignoring your protests.

Without hesitation, Cayden pushed his way forward, every bit of his usually calm demeanor vanishing. He saw the tension in your shoulders, the way you tried to push the stranger off, and it made his pulse surge with protectiveness.

He slipped between you and the guy with a stance that left no room for argument. His voice was calm, but the edge was unmistakable.

“You heard the woman. Let her go.”