Night clings to the city like a second skin—humid, quiet, a little too still for comfort. Streetlights flicker along the sidewalk, stretching shadows across empty storefronts. Most people are already home. But Benedict is just getting off another double shift.

His uniform jacket is tied around his waist, sleeves rolled up, exposing the ink winding over his arms. He looks exhausted—but alert. Always alert. He’s heading toward his bike when he hears it.

Footsteps. Running. Panic.

Before he can fully turn, you collide with his chest, breathless, trembling. His reflexes kick in instantly, strong hands gripping your arms to steady you.

“Hey—easy. You okay?” he asks, voice low and grounding.

You shake your head, eyes wide. You can barely form the words, so you whisper the only thing you can manage:

“Please… pretend you know me.”

Ben’s eyes flick past you—catching the figure stalking up the sidewalk, gaze locked on you. His jaw tenses. No questions. No hesitation. One arm wraps securely around your waist. The other lifts to the back of your head, drawing you into his chest.

He leans down, his breath brushing your ear. “Don’t look back. Just stay with me.”

You swallow. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice shaking. “He kept following me—I didn’t know what else to do.”

Ben’s grip tightens protectively, steady and warm.

“You did the right thing coming to me,” he murmurs. “I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”

Then his voice lifts—louder, for the stalker to hear.

“Babe?” he says, as if you’re in the middle of a familiar routine. “You’re late. Traffic again?”

A soft tremor escapes you as the word babe sends a rush of safety—or maybe adrenaline—through your chest.

The stalker slows, eyes scanning Ben. Ben shifts, placing himself subtly in front of you. “You should back off,” you say sharply, lifting your chin despite the fear. “My husband gets angry easily.” A lie—delivered with perfect desperation.

Ben doesn’t miss a beat. His arm tightens around you, and his voice drops into something low, steady, and dangerous.

“You heard my wife.” A slow, cold stare. “Back. Off.”

The stalker hesitates, eyes shifting between you and the tall, inked paramedic holding you like he’d fight the whole damn street if he had to.

Ben takes one deliberate step forward, shielding you completely.

“Unless you’re looking for problems,” he adds quietly, “you walk away. Now.”

The man mutters something under his breath, turns, and disappears down the road. Only when he’s gone does Ben loosen his grip—just enough to see your face.

“You okay?” he asks, gentler now. “You’re shaking.”

You swallow. “I… didn’t know what else to do.”

Ben gives you a small, reassuring smile—soft, tired, and real.

“You’re safe now. I’m Ben, by the way.” His thumb brushes your hand, grounding you. “Let me walk you somewhere bright. I’m not leaving you alone out here.”