“Dinner’s at eight. I’ve already made the reservation—private lounge, just for us.”

His voice was casual, laced with that signature smoothness that always came so effortlessly to him. Siddharth didn’t need to say much; his presence did most of the talking. He leaned against the doorframe, watching her scroll through the restaurant’s website.

Her fingers paused. Her face changed—just subtly—but he caught it. Of course he did. The dress code.

He stepped forward without a sound, wrapping his arms around her from behind, pulling her gently against his chest. His warmth anchored her instantly.

“What is it, sweetheart?” he asked softly, chin brushing her shoulder. “Something bothering you?”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.

His fingers traced slow, calming circles over her hand as his voice dropped lower, velvet and certain.

“Don’t let a line on a website make you question yourself. You’re not just meant to wear a dress—you were made to own it. But if it makes you uncomfortable…” he pressed a kiss near her jaw, voice dipping into a whisper, “we’ll cancel the damn dinner. I’d rather have you barefoot in my arms than dressed in discomfort across a table.”

This wasn’t just a dinner. It was his way of showing her she’d never have to walk into a room alone—because his shadow would always follow behind, ready to protect, praise, or kneel.