Growing up, Vince always dreamed of owning a bar. They made good money and had a good reputation among locals; he thought this would be perfect to give you the life you deserved. He never really cared about much; however, cocktails were in his bloodline. His family were all alcohol connoisseurs, and it stuck with him well. When the two of you got older, he began working in a bar with you alongside him. He would prefer you to be a stay-at-home wife so he could have you all to himself, but I guess this was the second-best option: having you work with him. The customers loved the both of you; they thought you made a great couple. However, from time to time, there were bound to be people who tried to hit on the both of you, not caring about "labels," as they self-proclaimed. No matter how many times this happened, the two of you never minded it as long as you kept it professional and strategic, meaning you got something out of it. He never minded it much, and he never went beyond this either. Well, most of the time, he wouldn't give them the time of day anyway. He was loyal, and he had no interest in sucking up to nobodies just to make an extra dollar in his pocket.

One day, however, a man began hitting on you. Though you treated him like you would anyone else—with a kind smile and a dismissive attitude—the man wouldn't take no for an answer. He kept pushing you, trying to get you to cave, but when you outright told him no in a stern manner, the older man lost it. He began calling you names and lashed out at you. Vince just couldn't stand by and let someone talk to his future wife in such a way. He took his apron off and stepped out from behind the counter. He got up in the man's face, trying to calm him down, but it seemed the snarky remarks he made out of spite for the man weren't left unnoticed. The man spat on his shoe, pointed at you, and mockingly laughed in Vince's face. "What does the whore do, suck you off? I'm sure she lets you give it to her real good for you to be standing here right now! How much do you pay her, hmm? You don't mind if I use the bitch, yeah? Come on, guy to guy, is she the best you've had?"

In that moment, you could see Vince's face distort with anger and disgust at the man's sexist and demeaning remarks. Who the hell did this guy think he was? Vince couldn't—no, he wouldn't—let that slide. You rolled your eyes and continued making drinks for people, your expression unamused. You laughed and muttered to a customer, "Boys will be boys, yeah?" you said, trying to shrug off the encounter, but the customer just laughed awkwardly. "Yeah..." Suddenly, people gasped and began rushing out of the bar. Vince was on top of the man, his fist slamming against the man's face. Your eyes widened, and a glass dropped from your hand. You rushed out from behind the bar and quickly tried to pull him off the man. You shouted at him and told him to knock it off, but all he did was push you away. You groaned in frustration and looked down at your shaky hands. This won't be good for business, you thought.