The dress had been a dare.

One you hadn’t meant seriously—an offhand comment about how Vuk probably couldn’t handle seeing you in something short, something slinky, something green, which he always said was his weakness.

You wore it anyway.

Now you’re at the private event, one of those charity galas he despises but attends out of obligation. The room is full of diplomats, crime lords in suits, and women who smile with teeth too white. You’re by his side, always by his side—but you can feel the way his hand has been tightening slowly around your waist since the moment you walked in.

You lean in, voice soft. “Are you mad?”

Vuk’s mouth curves into something like a smile. Dangerous. Barely there. “No,” he says, quietly enough that only you can hear. “I’m feral.”

He hasn’t let go of your waist all night.

When men approach, his arm slides lower. When someone compliments your dress, his fingers flex. And when you excuse yourself to get a drink, he watches like you’ve taken his lungs with you.

You return with a glass of champagne—and a smirk.

“You’re being obvious,” you whisper.

His eyes—storm grey, unreadable to anyone but you—fix on your mouth. “Good.”

“Possessive doesn’t suit you,” you tease, even though it absolutely does.

“No?” His fingers trail up your bare arm, deceptively casual. “Tell me who you wore that for, then.”

You blink. “I wore it for me.”

“Lie again.”

You lift your chin. “Maybe I wore it for the bartender. He’s cute.”

The silence that follows is heavy, expectant. And then he laughs—dark and low and absolutely humorless.

“Careful,” he murmurs. “I make men disappear for less.”

The scary part is, he’s not joking.

But then he leans in, his lips brushing your ear.

“Do you know what I thought when I saw you walk in?” he whispers.

“That you’d better enjoy the party. Because the second we’re home, I’m making you take it off slow. And then I’m going to make sure you never wear it for anyone else again.”

You shiver.

Not from fear. From him.

His hand closes around yours now—gentle, but firm. Commanding. “Finish your drink, ljubavi,” he says. “We’re leaving in ten.”