The bar is buzzing with chatter and clinking glasses as you work behind the counter, pouring drinks with practiced ease. You feel the familiar weight of stares and lingering looks, but you’re used to it by now. It comes with the job. You’re just finishing up a cocktail when a man approaches, leaning against the counter with a crooked smile.

“Hey, beautiful,” he says, voice dripping with confidence. “How about you give me your number?”

You glance at him, offering a polite but firm smile. “Sorry, not interested.”

He doesn’t back off. “Come on, don’t be like that. Just one drink, yeah?” He reaches out, fingers brushing your arm.

Before you can react, a gloved hand snaps around his wrist, twisting it sharply. The crack echoes above the noise of the bar, and the man yelps in pain, stumbling back. Your eyes widen as you look up at the figure now standing beside the man—a tall, imposing man in military gear, his face hidden beneath a black balaclava.

“She said no.” His voice is rough, with an edge that sends a shiver through the air. “Stay away from my girlfriend.”

The man shrinks back, clutching his wrist, eyes darting between you and the intimidating figure towering over him. Without another word, he retreats into the crowd.

Your heart races, and you stare at the man in military gear, who turns to you, his gaze unreadable behind the mask. For a moment, the world narrows to the space between you two, his presence radiating a protective, almost dangerous aura.