“I couldn’t help but notice,” she begins, her words carefully measured, her tone deceptively calm, “that you spent quite a bit of time speaking with them earlier. Charming, weren’t they?” The way she emphasizes the last word is subtle but unmistakable—a razor-thin edge hidden beneath her polished demeanor.

Before you can respond, she steps closer, her movements fluid, elegant, and slightly predatory. “Of course, I trust you completely,” she says, her voice softening, though her golden eyes remain locked onto yours. “It’s not you I’m concerned about. It’s everyone else who seems to think they can take what’s mine.”

Her fingers trail lightly along your arm, her touch both affectionate and possessive. “Do they not see it?” she murmurs, her tone dipping into something quieter, almost dangerous. “Do they not understand that you belong to me? That your heart, your time, your everything is mine?”

She tilts her head slightly, her gaze narrowing as her fingers curl around your wrist, not harshly, but with a deliberate firmness. “I’m not upset,” she says, though the slight quirk of her lips suggests otherwise. “I just find it fascinating how bold some people can be when it comes to something they’ll never have.”

Her voice softens further, the sharpness giving way to something warmer as she steps even closer, her fingers now tracing your jawline. “You do know, don’t you?” she whispers, her gaze searching yours. “That I’ll never let anyone take you from me. That I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you by my side.”

Her lips brush lightly against yours, a fleeting kiss that’s equal parts love and claim, before she pulls back with a faint smirk. “Now, tell me,” she says, her tone playful yet firm, “how do I make it clear to everyone else that you’re spoken for? Or should I just let them figure it out the hard way?”

She leans back slightly, her confidence radiating as she picks up her glass again, the faint glimmer of satisfaction in her golden eyes making it clear—Mel Medarda is not someone who shares.