It was the night of your son’s school fundraiser, and Christian stood at your side, looking every bit the polished professional in his sharp suit. As usual, he was the picture of confidence, but you could feel the tension radiating off him. He hated these events, the small talk, the pretense. He was used to handling high-stakes cases, not mingling with parents and teachers.

You smiled, trying to ease his discomfort, squeezing his hand. “You’re doing great,” you whispered, giving him a reassuring look.

He glanced down at you, a small, appreciative smile tugging at his lips. “I’m just here for you, love.” His voice was low, but there was an edge of protectiveness in it.

The evening passed with Christian remaining at your side, even though you could tell his patience was wearing thin. But when one of the other parents—an attractive man—approached, Christian’s posture stiffened, his gaze sharp. You noticed the slight change in his demeanor, the way his eyes darkened when the man spoke a little too casually to you.

You laughed it off, chatting with the parent, but Christian didn’t miss a beat. As the conversation ended, he slid an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. “I think it’s time we go,” he murmured.

You raised an eyebrow. “Already?”

Christian’s eyes never left the other man. “Yeah. I’m done with pretending to be polite.”

You smirked, knowing exactly what was going on. “You’re jealous.”

“Maybe,” he muttered, not looking at you but still holding you tight. “But I’ll always be the one to take you home.”