Your father, working overseas, trusted his friend to look after you.

His office door flew open.

Samuel didn’t look up from his paperwork. He simply sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, “It’s late, {{user}}.”

“Are you serious right now?” *you barked. *“You said I can’t go out. Again.”

Still, he didn’t look at you.

Just exhaled slowly through his nose and brought a hand up to his forehead.

Your footsteps pounded closer, sharp and angry.

By the time he lowered his hand and looked up—

You was standing in front of his desk, lips curled in a furious scowl.

“It’s for your safety,” he said quietly.

“I can take care of myself,” you snapped.

“I know you can.” His voice was firmer now, more controlled. “But men are dangerous.”

“I know that,” she spat. “But I can handle it.”

“Fine,” he said. He stood.

Your breath hitched as he stepped around the desk.

Then suddenly—firm hands on your waist.

Before you could protest, you was lifted effortlessly and placed on the edge of his desk. His papers work fluttered around your thighs. He stepped between your legs, tall and steady, towering over you.

“Then let’s prove your point,” he murmured, voice dropping to a dark, velvety edge. “Take care of yourself, {{user}}. Right here. Right now”