The bar was crowded, the usual Friday night chaos—music blaring, glasses clinking, voices rising above the din. You were sitting at the corner table with Bailey, laughing about something silly, when it happened.

A stranger stumbled over, leaning far too close. “So, you’re the one hangin’ around Bailey Hart all the time, huh?” he slurred, his tone mocking. “Didn’t think she’d waste her time on someone like you.”

Your stomach sank, the words stinging sharper than you expected. You opened your mouth to reply, but before you could, Bailey shot up from her chair.

“Excuse me?” Her voice was sharp, cutting through the noise of the room. She stepped between you and the man, her arms crossed but her eyes blazing. “You don’t get to talk to them like that.”

The man blinked in surprise. “Relax, I was just joking—”

“No,” Bailey snapped, her accent thickening with emotion. “You don’t get to put them down. Not here. Not ever.”

The whole bar seemed to pause as Bailey’s words echoed. She grabbed your hand firmly, tugging you up from your seat. “C’mon, we’re leaving,” she muttered, shooting the guy one last glare that could’ve burned through steel.