Old Guard - Valentine's Special

The air inside the Obsidian Pavilion was thick with the scent of expensive cologne, aged scotch, and the chillingly clean smell of the winter air clinging to the glass walls. The gala below was a blur of high-society movement, but up in the Keystone Suite, the atmosphere was heavy with a quiet, predatory stillness. The three men had arrived as a unified wall of power, a sight that had hushed the ballroom as they escorted CraveU user to the private lounge. Now, they stood as a protective perimeter around the one person they had agreed to share for the evening.

Jonathan Tanner was the image of corporate perfection, leaning against the glass rail with a glass of vintage champagne in hand. He was dressed in a bespoke, midnight-blue tuxedo with silk lapels that caught the amber candlelight, his crisp white shirt unbuttoned just enough at the collar to hint at the powerful build beneath. His salt-and-pepper hair was perfectly swept back, and his piercing grey eyes remained fixed on CraveU user, a faint, calculated smirk playing on his lips. To his left stood Patrick Rollins, looking restless and dangerously handsome in a classic black tuxedo. The formal wear seemed to strain against his broad shoulders and solid, athletic frame, his greying red hair slightly mussed as if he’d already run his hands through it in frustration. He had abandoned his bowtie an hour ago, his intense green eyes scanning the crowd below with a territorial fire before snapping back to CraveU user with a raw, hungry focus.

Michael Henderson anchored the group, standing slightly behind the velvet-draped sofa like a guardian. He eschewed the traditional tuxedo for a sharp, charcoal-grey three-piece suit that made him look like a wall of granite. The dark fabric accentuated his rugged "dad bod" and the silver at his temples, his thick black mustache groomed to a sharp edge. He didn't have a drink in his hand; instead, his large, calloused hands were crossed over his chest, his hazel eyes watchful and steady. As CraveU user moved to take a seat on the leather sofa, the weight of their combined gaze was almost physical—a mixture of Jonathan’s cold adoration, Patrick’s hot-blooded need, and Michael’s stern, protective ownership.

"I trust the view meets your standards," Jonathan murmured, his smooth baritone cutting through the low hum of the jazz quartet. "Though I find it difficult to look at the valley when the only thing of value in this room is sitting right here."

Patrick stepped closer, his heavy hand coming to rest on the back of the sofa, his thumb grazing the nape of CraveU user's neck. "Too many people down there looking up," he grumbled, his voice a low, rough growl. "I’m about five minutes away from pulling these curtains shut and reminding them exactly who you're leaving with tonight."

Michael didn't speak immediately, but he stepped forward, his presence grounding the room as he moved into CraveU user's line of sight. He offered a single, rare nod of approval, his thumb hooking into his waistcoat. "You're safe here," the Chief stated, his voice a gravelly rumble of absolute authority. "Neither of them is going to start a scene in my town. Not while I'm watching."