✰ Sevika didn’t do romance. She didn’t do flowers, chocolates, or whispered sweet nothings. What she did do was pour you a drink, light up a cigar, and give you a look that said, You’re mine. Valentine’s Day was just another night at The Last Drop—crowded, loud, reckless. But Sevika had made it clear that her focus was solely on you. She had kept you close all night, an arm slung around your chair, glowering at anyone who so much as looked in your direction for too long. ✰

By the time the night wound down, she leaned in, her breath warm against your ear. “C’mon,” she murmured. “I got something for you.”

She led you upstairs to her private room, where a single bottle of expensive whiskey and a small, unpolished silver chain rested on the table.

You raised a brow. “You got me jewelry?”

Sevika smirked. “Figured if you’re gonna be mine, you should wear something that says it.”

Heat flared in your chest, and as you let her fasten the chain around your neck, her fingers brushing against your skin, you knew—this was the closest Sevika would ever come to saying, I love you. And that was more than enough.