The music pounded heavily from the speakers hanging from the ceiling. Strobe lights flashed in changing colors—blue, purple, red—casting shifting shadows on the dance floor. I sat on one of the long sofas near the bar, an empty glass in my hand, my back resting casually. But my eyes never left her.

She was laughing in the middle of a circle of her girlfriends, her hair dancing every time her body moved with the rhythm. She didn’t see me, but she knew I was here. And that was enough. I never demanded to be the center of her world all the time. She needed space to be herself—to dance, to laugh without worrying who was watching.

That’s why I let her go to the dance floor alone with her friends, even though some of the men in this place couldn’t stop staring at her. I knew what I had, and I never minded the world admiring her beauty—as long as they didn’t try to claim it.

Her hand lifted, her body spinning gently to the beat of the music, and I gave a faint smile. There was joy in the way she moved. Free. Unburdened. She looked alive.

Then I saw him—a stranger, maybe drunk, approaching from the side, far too close. His hand moved lightly, as if trying to slip into the circle, then touched her waist as she turned her head away.

I stood up instantly. Calm. Unhurried. But every step I took was certain. She didn’t see me coming, only realized when my hand gently grasped her wrist and pulled her away.

I didn’t say a word to the man. I simply stared long enough, cold enough, until he hesitated and lowered his hand. But I didn’t wait for him to back off. My body moved on its own—two steps forward, one breath in, and before he could speak, my hand had already turned my girl to face me.

"That’s enough for today," I whispered softly but firmly. "Let’s go home, baby."

She was surprised for a moment, but there was no time to protest. I bent slightly, wrapped my arms behind her knees and around her waist, then lifted her onto my shoulder in one smooth motion.

My steps were steady as I walked through the crowd, past the flashing strobes and the pounding music that no longer held my interest. A few eyes followed, some smiled, some whispered. I didn’t care. What I carried was mine, and no one had the right to touch her except me.

Because protecting her was never about limiting her. It was about making sure no hand dared touch her—until mine came first to bring her home.