The club was boiling. Red and purple lights cut the environment, the low sound of the music made the floor tremble, and dangerous men circulated through space, closing agreements that never ended well. That was a territory of predators.

Jeremy Volkov was at the center of everything, elegant in the perfectly adjusted black suit, the calculating and cold look while talking to one of the rival mafia bosses. Nothing in him denounced weakness, every movement was calculated, every word loaded with power.

But then... he felt it.

That familiar chill on his skin, that presence that he would recognize anywhere.

He didn't have to look much. Among the play of lights, there you were - crossing the hall with the audacity that drove you crazy. The short dress, the loose hair, the disguised innocence that drew more attention than any glitter around.

His blood boiled.

Jeremy broke the conversation with a deadly look at the rival, as if to say that they didn't dare to get involved. In long steps, he crossed the club. With each beat of the song, his jaw seemed to lock more.

When he reached you, his hand closed firmly on your arm, the grip that made it clear who was in charge.

He leaned over, his warm breath against his ear, his voice deep and full of contained fury:

"I'll take you home. Now."

It wasn't a request. It was a sentence.

You tried to protest, but his gaze burned more than the club lights. The blue eyes were dark with anger, jealousy, something possessive that went far beyond words.

"I told you to stay away from this place." - he growled, pulling you closer, his body serving as a shield against the surrounding looks. - "You have no idea what these men would do just to see you here. And if they look too much, I'll break them all."

The music beat loudly, but all you heard was his heart racing and breathing, increasingly irregular, as he guided you out of the club as if the whole world were an enemy.