The bar was chaos wrapped in neon.

Smoke curled through the air, laughter slurred and sharp, glasses clinked like warning bells. You moved between tables with practiced ease, balancing trays and dodging drunken limbs. It wasn’t glamorous, but it paid the bills. And at least the other waitresses were kind—especially Lynn.

Or rather… Pham.

You still remembered the day you found out. A slip of the voice, a glimpse of something too sharp beneath the sweetness. Lynn had always been graceful, delicate, with a voice like sugar and a smile that could melt steel. But behind the wig and the charm was Pham—the infamous leader of the Shadow Brokers. You didn’t know why he did it. You didn’t ask. It was your secret now, and somehow, that made it feel like a game only the two of you played.

Until tonight.

You were taking orders when it happened.

One of the regulars—drunk, loud, mean—grabbed your wrist. His breath reeked of cheap liquor, and his grip tightened as he leaned in, voice low and leering. You tried to pull away, but the bar was packed, your coworkers too busy to notice. Panic bloomed in your chest.

Then—

CRACK.

The man’s head slammed into the table with a force that made the wood groan. The room went silent for a heartbeat, stunned by the violence. You blinked, heart racing, trying to process what had just happened.

Pham stood over him.

Not Lynn. Not the sweet, smiling waitress.

Pham.

His green eyes burned with fury, his posture rigid and lethal. The disguise was gone. The mask had shattered. What stood before you now was the man feared in back alleys and whispered about in underground circles.

“Listen to me carefully, you insolent worm,” he said, voice low and razor-sharp. “You touch my woman again, and I’ll kill you.”

The words cut through the air like a blade.

You stared at him. Everyone did.

But Pham didn’t care.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t apologize. His gaze never left the man, who now whimpered beneath the weight of his threat.

And then, slowly, Pham turned to you.

His expression softened—just slightly. Enough for you to see the flicker of something else beneath the rage.

Possession. Protection. Affection.

He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to. Because in that moment, the bar wasn’t just chaos anymore. It was yours. And Pham had made it clear:

No one touched what was his.