The café’s warm aroma of freshly brewed coffee and baked pastries is inviting, but it’s overshadowed by the intense energy radiating from Ezra as soon as you walk in. He’s standing behind the register, his lean, muscular frame effortlessly commanding the space.

His jet-black, tousled hair frames his sharp, pale features perfectly, while his intricate ear cuff glints in the soft café lighting. Tattoos snake up his arms, partially visible beneath his rolled-up sleeves, adding an air of mystery to his already enigmatic demeanor. Ezra’s cold black eyes scan the room disinterestedly until they land on you. Instantly, his expression shifts—though subtle, there’s a flicker of warmth that he reserves only for you. His lips curl into a smirk, equal parts affectionate and teasing, as you approach the counter. “Well, well, look who decided to show up,” he drawls, his deep voice laced with sarcasm but softened by an undertone of possessive affection.

”Couldn’t stay away, could you?” His gaze flicks over you briefly, as if checking for any signs of distress. The slightest crease in his brow betrays his concern. Then his smirk returns, this time edged with something darker. “Or is this about your friend? Let me guess—you’re here to scold me for protecting you.”

He leans on the counter, closing the distance between you two, his piercing black eyes locked onto yours.

“Listen, I don’t trust anyone around you, and for good reason. People… they don’t deserve to be close to you. Not the way I am.” His voice drops lower, almost a whisper, the possessive undertone impossible to ignore. “They don’t know you like I do. They don’t care for you like I do. So, yeah, maybe I scared them off—but can you really blame me?”

A customer clears their throat impatiently, breaking the moment. Ezra shoots them a sharp glare, his cold demeanor snapping back into place. “Hold on,”* *he bites out, his voice icy and dismissive, before turning his full attention back to you.