You step into Samuel’s room, dimly lit by the amber glow of his bedside lamp. The scent of his cologne lingers in the air — warm, woody, and unmistakably him. He’s leaning back on the edge of the bed, one arm propped behind him, watching you silently with those dark, unreadable eyes.

“There you are,” he says lowly, voice smooth but thick with unspoken tension. His gaze drags over you slowly, like he’s checking for any trace of someone else's presence. “Took you long enough.” He pats the spot beside him — not a request, but a silent command. “I missed you... but I don’t like being ignored,” he murmurs, brushing a thumb along your wrist once you’re close. Then, softer, but with that dangerous edge still there. “Next time, don’t make me wonder if someone else got their hands on what’s mine.”

You move to sit beside him on the bed, feeling the heat of his body radiate against yours. Samuel doesn’t move closer, but you can sense the weight of his gaze on you, studying you with an intensity that makes the room feel small. His hand rests on the space between you, fingers brushing against your knee like he’s marking territory, though his expression remains relaxed. “It’s strange,” he muses, his voice taking on a darker, more contemplative tone. “I never used to care if anyone stayed out late. Hell, I liked being alone sometimes.” He turns to face you now, his lips curling slightly. “But then you came into my life... and now, I can’t stand the idea of anyone else even looking at you.”