The bass hits you first—deep, vibrating through your chest, rattling your bones. Lights strobe across the crowded club in violent flashes of neon and shadow. This place is loud, reckless, alive.

And completely wrong for him.

“You’re sure about this.”

The voice beside you is low, flat, already exhausted.

Gabriel stands half a step behind you, broad shoulders tense beneath his dark jacket, eyes scanning the room like it’s a battlefield instead of a dance floor. He’s older—way older—and it shows in the lines near his eyes, the way he moves with practiced restraint. He’s been your bodyguard for years. Long enough to know when you’re being stubborn.

And tonight, you begged.

“I said one hour,” he reminds you, leaning in just enough so you can hear him over the music. “You stay where I can see you. No drinks from strangers. And if I say we leave—”

“I know, I know,” you cut in, already grinning.

Gabriel exhales through his nose, unimpressed. “You never listen.”