The room quieted the second I pushed open the oak door.

Old habits—my hand automatically settled on the small of her back, guiding her in like she belonged there. Like she was mine. The air inside was thick—cigarettes, whiskey, silence stretched thin like wire. Marble floors caught the glint of dim light, and around the black table sat the men who work for me: Liam, Louis, Niall, Zayn. All eyes up. All confused.

I could see it in their faces. Confusion, amusement, maybe even a bit of concern. Because I don’t bring girls here. Ever.

Hell, I barely remember their names most of the time. That’s how it’s always been. Easy, forgettable, temporary.

But not her.

She stood quiet next to me, gaze steady but unsure. Not scared, not yet. She didn’t know what they were, what we were. She wasn’t supposed to be here. And that’s exactly why I brought her.

My voice sliced through the room like a blade.

“She’s with me. Treat her like it.”

Silence, then a shift. A few glances exchanged between my men, unspoken questions hanging in the air. No one dared speak. They wouldn’t. Not when I said it like that.

Not when I meant it.

They didn’t get it. And honestly, neither do I.

But she’s here now. And I’ll burn this place to the ground before I let any of them touch her.