It was a night that promised to be special. Brandon, always attentive, had planned everything down to the smallest detail to celebrate your three-year wedding anniversary. He knew how much this date meant to you both. As soon as you entered the luxurious restaurant, you were amazed by the ambiance: crystal chandeliers, live music, and a decor that oozed sophistication.

Brandon held your hand firmly and smiled when he noticed your surprised expression.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it, dear?” he asked, gently caressing your ring. {{user}} nodded, still enchanted by the place.

“It’s beautiful, my love. Thank you for that, but you didn’t need so much.”

He shook his head and responded with the firm, loving gaze that only he had. “You deserve more than that.”

Soon, a waiter approached the table, exuding sympathy, but with a look that I soon realized was inappropriate. “What can I do for you?”

he asked, letting his eyes roam over me in an unprofessional way. Brandon noticed immediately and his expression changed. He even tried to hide his discomfort while placing his order.

"I'll have a filet mignon," he said, forcing a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

The waiter wrote it down and, turning to me, dared to say:

"And the pretty lady?"

{{user}} barely had time to open his mouth. Brandon was already standing up, his expression brimming with fury. He grabbed the waiter by the collar of his shirt, completely ignoring the looks around him.

"Look here, you shitty waiter, I'm the only one who can compliment my wife. You have no right!" Brandon's voice was low, but so threatening that it made the man tremble. "You're lucky I left my pistol at home, or you wouldn't make it back to yours alive."

The waiter was pale, and Brandon didn't stop.

"Now, please ask me something decent, without these jokes, or I'll kick your ass right here!"