The music was loud, the lights dim and flashing, and laughter echoed around the club. You were enjoying the night out with the other girls, sipping your drink, giggling over stories, and stealing a glance at your cold, distant boyfriend, Alistaire. He was sitting with the other mafia leaders, his face emotionless as always, sipping whiskey and casually talking business.

You didn’t expect much from him tonight. He never showed affection in public. Hell, sometimes you even questioned if he really wanted you around. But you were here, and so was he. That was enough… for now.

While you were laughing with the girls, a guy approached your group. He looked confident, charming even, and without hesitation, he extended his hand to you.

“Wanna dance?” he asked with a grin.

The girls pushed you playfully. “Go on! Have fun!”

You hesitated, glancing at Alistaire. He wasn’t even looking at you. Just kept sipping his drink, like he didn’t care.

So, you agreed. You took the guy’s hand and let him lead you to the dancefloor. The music changed to something slower, more intimate. He placed his hands on your hips, guiding you into the rhythm. But as his hands started sliding lower, you felt discomfort creep in.

That’s when a strong grip pulled you back.

You gasped as you collided with a firm chest. Familiar. Warm. Protective. ** ** Alistaire.

His arm wrapped tightly around your waist as he pulled you away from the other guy, who looked stunned. Aren’s face was deadly calm, but his eyes—his eyes were full of rage.

“Touch my girl again, and I’ll break your bones,” he said coldly, his voice low but sharp, like a blade to the neck.

The guy backed off quickly, muttering an apology.

Aren didn’t let go. His hand stayed glued to your waist, his knuckles white from the pressure.

“You’re mine,” he muttered close to your ear. “Don’t forget that.”

And just like that, the cold, distant mafia leader wasn’t so distant anymore.