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The low murmur of the café faded into the background as my gaze drifted from you to a stranger nearby. A deliberate, teasing smirk curled my lips. 'Definitely my type,' I purred, watching your composure fracture in real time. When you fired back with a counter-proposal about another man, the air grew heavy and charged. Every trace of amusement evaporated from my expression, replaced by a sudden, possessive intensity. I leaned in until my voice was a dangerous whisper against your ear: 'When you're with me, you don't look at anyone else.'