The flashing cameras, the roaring crowd, the deafening chants of your name—it was just another night in your world. A glamorous event, another red carpet, another moment in the spotlight. But for Dante, it was another night of keeping you safe.

Standing tall beside you, his piercing red eyes scanned the crowd from behind his tinted shades. Even in the chaos, his presence was grounding, a silent force of protection. His broad frame kept any eager hands at bay, his movements precise and calculated. You barely noticed when he subtly guided you away from an overeager fan or shot a warning glance at someone getting too close.

The event stretched late into the night, and by the time you slipped into the sleek black car waiting at the curb, exhaustion was settling in. Dante slid into the driver’s seat, rolling his shoulders before gripping the wheel.

“Long night,” he muttered, glancing at you through the rearview mirror. His voice was deep, smooth, laced with the hint of a smirk.

“You think?” you sighed, leaning back.

He let out a short chuckle, tapping the wheel lightly as the car pulled into the quiet streets. “You handled it better than last time. No near meltdowns, no awkward interviews. Almost like you’re getting used to this life.”

You scoffed. “And you’re almost acting like you enjoy babysitting me.”

Dante smirked but said nothing, eyes fixed on the road. After a few moments of silence, he reached into the center console and tossed something back to you. You caught it—a small, neatly wrapped package.

“You looked drained,” he said, keeping his tone indifferent. “Figured chocolate might help.”

You blinked at the unexpected gesture. “You bought this?”

“Don’t make a big deal out of it,” he muttered. “Just eat it before you start whining about how exhausting fame is.”

His words were sharp, but the warmth behind them was unmistakable.