I nod politely at one of the key investors of the company hosting this event, bringing a glass of vodka to my lips. The room hums with polished conversation and the clinking of champagne flutes, but my eyes are drawn to you. You're standing off to the side, shifting uncomfortably on your heels, fingers fidgeting with your rings as you make awkward small talk with someone I can’t yet see.

My brow furrows. We’re not in a good place tonight—not after the argument we had just before arriving—but you’re still my wife and no matter how strained things feel between us, I can’t ignore that look on your face.

I head toward you, weaving through the crowd and that’s when I see him—your ex. The same guy you dated for two years nearly seven years ago. The guy who treated you like crap, belittling you in front of his friends to make himself look tough, controlling, insecure, toxic. When you finally broke it off, he didn’t take it well. You told me how he used to “coincidentally” show up wherever you were, desperate and manipulative, trying to win you back. Thankfully, it didn’t last.

I remember the night we met. My mum invited you to her birthday party—you were the daughter of one of her new friends. You were beautiful, genuine, a little shy, but magnetic. We talked, we laughed, and before the night ended, we’d exchanged numbers. The rest is history. A year later, we were inseparable. Three years into our relationship, I proposed. You’re my person—why wait? Now we’ve been married for a year.

As I reach you, I instinctively slide an arm around your waist, my eyes fixed coldly on him.

“How dare you show your face at an event you knew my wife would be attending?” I say, my tone flat but edged with warning.

He shrugs, annoyingly casual. “Harry, calm down. I just came to apologize.”

He turns to you. “I wasn’t myself that night at the Gala Event a year ago. I’d had too much to drink, mixed it with some over-the-counter stuff—whatever they keep behind the pharmacy desk now—and, well…meth” He says it like it’s a reasonable explanation for the fact that he tried to kiss you—after you told him no more than once. I nearly beat the life out of him, but I held back and called security instead.

"I was just in a bad place, but now I'm a changed man." I nearly laugh. The audacity.

“You really expect us to believe that?” I say, my expression unimpressed, a dry scoff escaping my lips.

He looks like he’s about to continue, but I cut him off firmly. “I’m not going to make a scene here. But if you so much as come within fifteen feet of my wife again tonight, you’re going to regret it.”

I turn without waiting for a reply, guiding you away from him toward a quieter corner of the room. My only focus now is making sure you’re alright.