Your boyfriend.

At least, that was how it must have looked from the outside, his arm firm around your waist, his hand resting as if it had always belonged there, fingers curved possessively into the fabric at your side. Coriolanus held you close enough that your shoulder brushed his chest when you shifted, close enough that anyone watching would assume intimacy without question. He didn’t need to exaggerate it. His presence alone did most of the work.

Earlier, you had noticed the man before Coriolanus did. The way his gaze lingered too long, how he found reasons to drift nearer each time you moved through the room. A hand brushing past your arm that didn’t feel accidental. A smile that suggested familiarity you had never offered. He spoke to you as if you owed him something—attention, politeness, gratitude, his voice low and confident in a way that made your skin prickle.

Coriolanus noticed the moment the balance shifted.

He always did.

His eyes followed the man’s movements with sharp precision, taking in every step closer, every casual lean, every excuse for touch. His expression didn’t change, but something in him tightened, an immediate, silent calculation. You felt it when his arm slid around you, decisive and unmistakable, drawing you back against him as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Stay here,” Coriolanus murmured, his voice calm, controlled, and close to your ear.

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.

From that moment on, he never left your side. When you shifted, he adjusted with you. When you laughed, his thumb traced slow, grounding circles at your waist. He angled his body just enough to place himself between you and the rest of the room, a quiet barrier that spoke louder than words ever could. Anyone looking could see it: you were claimed, protected, untouchable.

The man noticed too.

Every time he tried to catch your eye, Coriolanus was already there meeting the look with something cold and unreadable, his grip on you tightening just slightly. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to warn. The man’s confidence faltered, his steps slowing, his attention drifting elsewhere under the weight of Coriolanus’s unwavering stare.

Coriolanus leaned down once more, lips near your temple, his tone low and almost pleasant. “You don’t need to worry,” he said. “I’ve got you.”

And he did.

He stayed with you the entire night, never loosening his hold, never allowing space for anyone else to intrude. His touch remained constant, deliberate an unspoken promise that as long as you were beside him, no one would dare cross that line again.