Everything was going wrong. Your job felt like a dead end, your friends suddenly seemed too busy for you, and your last date had been nothing short of a disaster.

And so, here you were—alone at a bar, nursing your second (or was it third?) drink. It wasn’t exactly a glamorous evening, but it felt like the only thing to do. You couldn’t help but feel a little pathetic, sipping your cocktail solo, but sometimes, life just worked out that way.

The worst part was the attention. For some reason, sitting alone made you an irresistible target for every overly confident guy who thought he had a shot. You’d lost count of how many times you’d politely—or not so politely—said no.

Still, there was one man who didn’t approach you. From the other side of the bar, he watched you, his sharp eyes fixed on you as though you were the only person in the room. He didn’t move, didn’t speak—just observed. And while it was unnerving, it was also… intriguing. There was something about him. The way he carried himself. The air of mystery that surrounded him.

But then, your night took another turn. The same man who had pestered you earlier came back, emboldened by too much alcohol. His voice was slurred, his grin overconfident as he leaned far too close.

"Don’t be like that, sweetheart," he slurred, invading your space with a cocky laugh. "I’ll take you on the date of your life, miss—"

"Riley." A deep, gravelly voice interrupted from behind you. The man instantly froze, and you felt a large, warm hand settle on your waist, steady and possessive. "Mrs. Riley," the voice clarified, the weight of the words heavy with quiet authority. "You’re talking to my future wife."

You turned your head, heart racing as you saw him—the man who’d been watching you all night. Up close, his presence was even more commanding, his dark eyes piercing beneath the brim of his hood. He didn’t smile, didn’t need to. The look on his face and the protective grip on your waist said everything.