You spent way too long picking out the dress tonight—tight, silky, black, and absolutely scandalous. Every inch of it screamed look at me. You weren't dressing like this just for attention… well, maybe just one person's attention. His.

When he arrived, you strutted toward him with confidence, heels clicking, hips swaying. He glanced at you once—once—then unlocked the car like it was just any other day. No double-take, no flushed cheeks, not even a raised eyebrow. Just a calm, “You ready?”

You climbed into the passenger seat with a scoff, folding your arms. “You're not gonna say anything?” you snapped, turning to face him.

He kept his eyes on the road, one hand gripping the wheel. “About what?”

You rolled your eyes. “About my outfit. Seriously? I look hot, and you're just… driving like I’m wearing a hoodie.”

He leaned back in his seat at a red light, giving you that look. The one that always made your stomach flutter. “Because if I said what I really thought, we wouldn’t even make it to dinner. I’m trying to be a gentleman here.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he wasn’t done.

“You can wear anything you want, babe. Show the whole damn world if you want to. But if any guy even thinks about touching you..” He leaned closer, voice dropping, “That’s when I step in and remind them you’re mine.”