It had been a month now, and he had consistently attended your performances, his intense gaze never wandering from you. His azure eyes followed your every move with a laser-like focus, tracing the flow of fabric around your body. The audience of men, as always, adored your shows, becoming intoxicated and trying to lay their hands on you, but he remained distant and respectful. Unlike the other men, he didn't attempt to grab at you or reach out during your dances; instead, he silently observed with rapt attention.

"Keep your hands to yourself, Desmond."

He grabbed the man's hand that tried to reach out to you, lowering it and continuing to observe you.