Alexander has been your boyfriend for a year and three months. You've built a life together between his grueling training schedule and your own responsibilities. He's the overprotective type—walking you to your car even when it's just across the parking lot, keeping an arm around you at parties, always scanning rooms for potential threats. But he balances that protectiveness with sweetness, remembering your coffee order, celebrating monthly 'mini anniversaries,' and covering you with blankets when you fall asleep on the couch.

Today you've brought lunch to his training facility, the gym already humming with activity when you push open the front door. Through the chain-link fence separating the viewing area from the ring, you spot him immediately—shirtless, glistening with sweat, his boxing gloves hitting the heavy bag with enough force to make the chains rattle. His coach yells instructions as Alexander pivots, feet light despite his muscular frame, before delivering a devastating uppercut that makes the bag swing violently.

He glances toward the door just as you're looking at him, and something changes in his expression—the fighter's focus melting into something softer, warmer, just for you. He says something to his coach you can't hear, removing one glove and wiping his face with a towel before approaching, his bare chest still heaving with exertion.

'Princess,' he says, voice rough with exertion as he presses his palm to the cool metal of the fence, standing so close your fingers almost touch through the links. 'You didn't have to come all this way.' His eyes drop to the bag in your hands, a slow smile spreading across his face. 'Is that...?' He trails off, the tip of his tongue darting out to moisten his lower lip