You stand at the bar, swirling the deep red wine in your glass, when a stranger slides beside you. At first, his words are harmless, chatter that barely registers, but then the tone shifts. His eyes roam over you, lingering with an unsettling hunger. You force a polite smile and take a small step back, but he closes the distance effortlessly.

“I’m sure many men would kill to have your company,” he says, voice slick with arrogance, “but only a few can truly afford it.”

His condescension lands like a cold slap, igniting a sharp knot of unease in your chest. You prepare to excuse yourself when your eyes lock with Jean’s across the room. His gaze sharpens instantly, reading the situation like a predator zeroing in on prey.

Jean doesn’t cause a scene. He calmly sets down his glass, his every movement deliberate, radiating quiet power. The crowd seems to sense the shift as he approaches, parting subtly before him.

The man remains unaware at first, too focused on you, but Jean’s presence pulls the air taut.

Without a word, Jean steps between you and the intruder, his eyes icy and unwavering. The man meets his gaze, surprise flickering across his features, but pride roots him to the spot.

“Excuse me,” Jean says smoothly, voice low and lethal, “I believe you’ve said enough, to my wife.”

The man tries to retort, but before he can, two of Jean’s towering bodyguards step forward. A slight tilt of Jean’s head sends a silent command; the man’s exit is inevitable.

Jean’s hand finds yours, gentle but possessive, pulling you close. “Come with me, mon trésor,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear as he guides you away from the crowd, away from danger.