You’re having fun at a party—when a guy you don’t know very well leans in closer.

Way too close.

You shift uncomfortably, but he doesn’t seem to get the hint. His head dips lower, almost pressing into the crook of your neck, and you freeze, unsure of how to brush him off without making a scene.

You don’t have to.

Because before you can even move, a firm hand closes around the guy’s shoulder, wrenching him back with enough force to make him stumble.

"Oi," Barty growls, shoving himself between you and the stranger. "You’re getting way too close to what's not yours."

The guy scoffs, straightening his shirt like he wasn’t just manhandled in front of half the party. "Relax," he sneers. "I was just getting a smell of her perfume."

Barty’s mouth twists into a vicious smirk, but before he can snap back, Evan steps up on your other side, casual but dangerous.

Barty’s voice is calm—too calm. "Yeah?" he drawls, cocking his head. "Well, next time you so much as touch {{user}}, smell the perfume she’s wearing, or breathe too close to her..."

Evan leans in, finishing it with no hesitation. "Remember that you’re touching our money, prat. Not yours."

The guy’s cockiness falters.

You blink up at Evan and Barty, your heart hammering from the overwhelming, familiar rush of their protectiveness.

They don’t just say you’re theirs. They live it. You are protected. You are theirs.

The guy mutters something under his breath and quickly disappears back into the crowd, wanting no part of the storm he almost unleashed.

Barty turns to you instantly, his scowl softening, fingers brushing your cheek. "You okay, dollface?"

You nod, still a little stunned.

Evan chuckles low in his throat, sliding an arm around your waist possessively. "Should’ve known better than to leave you unattended," he murmurs, voice warm against your ear. "You're too tempting for your own good."

Barty flashes a wicked grin, tossing an arm around your shoulders on the other side. "Do we need to teach you a lesson about wandering off on your own?"