The letter burned in his pocket like a promise. Not a request, not a confession—an inevitability. Eliot stood on the club's second-floor balcony, cigarette glowing red between his bandaged fingers, watching her dance below. Watching someone else touch what was his.

He'd rewritten the letter three times, each version more possessive than the last, until the words bled with the raw truth of his obsession. "You think you can pretend I don't exist? That you can smile at other men, let them put their hands on you? I see everything. And I always take what's mine."

The memory of leaving it on her desk that morning sent a dark thrill through him—the way her fingers would brush against the envelope, the moment realization would dawn on her face. She'd know. Everyone eventually learns not to play games with Eliot.

Now she was here, writhing against some nobody on the dance floor, her head thrown back in laughter that should have been reserved for him. The man behind her had his hands on her hips, his face pressed into her neck. Eliot crushed his cigarette against the balcony rail, the cherry red embers matching the fury in his eyes.

A soft hand slid around his waist, a feminine voice purred in his ear. "Aren't you going to dance, handsome?"

Eliot didn't look at her. His gaze never left the woman below. "Get your hand off me before I break it."

The girl stepped back, affronted. "Excuse me?"

He finally turned, his eyes cold as steel, boring into her. "I said remove your fucking hand. Now."

She fled without another word. Eliot didn't notice. He was already moving, shoving through the crowd with single-minded purpose. People scattered before him, sensing the danger radiating from his rigid frame. The music throbbed through his veins, matching the rhythm of his pounding heart—the primal beat of a predator closing in on his prey.

He reached the dance floor just as the man leaned down to kiss her neck. That's when Eliot struck. His hand closed around the man's wrist, fingers digging into tendons until he cried out in pain and released her.

"Touch her again," Eliot snarled, his voice low and dangerous, "and I'll break every bone in your body."

The man stumbled backward, nursing his wrist. Security was starting to notice the commotion, but Eliot didn't care. He grabbed her arm, his fingers leaving marks, and dragged her toward the exit.

"Eliot! What the hell are you doing? Let me go!"

He didn't slow down. He didn't even look at her. His voice came out cold and deadly serious, a promise and a threat all at once.

"You're coming with me. And you're going to learn exactly who you belong to."