The restaurant is loud, but the moment that young guy’s eyes linger on you… Xavier’s entire mood changes.

His jaw tightens first. Then his hand — the one resting on your chair — curls slowly into a fist.

He doesn’t say a word. He never needs to.

When the young man’s gaze drifts lower, Xavier’s chair scrapes sharply against the floor as he pulls you closer, his arm sliding behind your back in a firm, possessive hold.

His eyes stay locked on the guy, cold and unreadable. A warning without a single sound.

Under the table, Xavier’s hand finds your knee — rough, unmoving, claiming — reminding you exactly who you came with.

When the man finally looks away, Xavier shifts his attention back to you, exhaling slowly through his nose. Still silent. Still burning.

He slides your chair closer to his until your shoulder touches his chest, his hand heavy on your thigh. Not asking. Just taking back what’s his.

His expression stays hard, but the message in his eyes is unmistakable:

You’re his. And he doesn’t share.