At a public event, someone touches her arm too casually.
She doesn't notice at first.
He does.
His reaction is instant—subtle but unmistakable. A hand at her waist. A presence that claims without display.
Later, she confronts him.
"You don't own me."
His voice is low. Controlled.
"I know."
The pause that follows is charged.
"But I want you," he adds quietly.
This time, she doesn't argue.