4

Vivian's POV

I stared from one Brennan to the other, my pulse pounding in my ears. Given the bizarre events of the night, a sci-fi doppelgänger situation didn't seem entirely implausible. Gemma had actually set me up on an amazing date—an impossible feat on its own. It was about as likely as ghosts and alien invasions. So, on a night where the absurd seemed possible, maybe there were two Brennans.

Except there weren’t.

The Brennan I had spent the evening with stood tall beside me, calm and composed, exuding effortless confidence. The other Brennan? A sloppy, staggering mess, eyes glassy and unfocused, his shirt stained with what I hoped was just spilled liquor.

And he was lying. I prayed he was lying.

“You’re not Brennan,” I said firmly, stepping instinctively closer to the man beside me, his warmth seeping into my skin. “I’m with Brennan.”

The drunk man let out a humorless laugh, tapping his chest and nearly toppling over in the process. “I’m Brennan! Gemma told me to meet you here.”

I frowned. “How do you know Gemma?” Was it possible she had set up two dates for me? A backup plan in case the first one fell through? That seemed excessive even for her.

But how had she managed to find two men with the same name?

“This doesn’t make sense,” I muttered, shaking my head. “I was late, and you weren’t here when I arrived. And now, you’re… like this.”

“I’m not drunk,” he slurred, swaying where he stood, eyes rolling around like marbles on a tabletop.

“You’re completely wasted,” I shot back, frustration boiling over. “Which, honestly, would track with Gemma’s questionable taste in men.”

Normally, I wouldn’t insult someone to their face. But this was ruining what had been a genuinely great night, and I was too irritated to care.

“Listen, mister…” I exhaled sharply, trying to rein in my temper. “You overheard our conversation and decided to mess with me. Very funny. Now, please, go find another joke to tell.”

But instead of backing off, he lunged, his sweaty fingers clamping around my arm.

“I’m not leaving without my date,” he grunted. “You’re here for me—”

A firm hand pressed against his chest, shoving him back before I could even react.

“Don’t touch her,” the man beside me growled, his voice a low, lethal warning. “Unless you want to lose that hand.”

I had never found violence attractive. But watching him place himself between me and danger sent a strange, unexpected thrill through me. I normally valued emotional intelligence, communication, and compromise. But at this moment, the solid wall of muscle standing in my defense felt undeniably intoxicating.

The drunk man scowled. “I wouldn’t hurt her! You’re the one who stole my date. What are you, some kind of serial killer?”

The man beside me smiled coldly. “You have no idea what kind of killer I am.”

A shiver crawled up my spine.

Drunk Brennan should have backed down, but liquid courage made him bold. I could feel eyes on us, the low murmur of interest from nearby patrons growing louder. I placed a hesitant hand on my supposed date’s arm, trying to de-escalate.

“He’s not worth it, Brennan. Let the manager handle it. He’s clearly had too much to drink.”

“I am Brennan!” the drunk man bellowed. “Gemma told me to meet her friend at seven! I was just… delayed!”

My companion scoffed. “You were an hour late. You expected her to sit around waiting for you like an afterthought? Learn some respect.”

The words struck me like a slap. He wasn’t denying the drunk man’s identity. He was confirming it.

I turned, staring up at the man I had spent the evening with. His face remained impassive, unreadable, yet somehow still infuriatingly handsome.

“You deserve better than this,” he murmured.

I swallowed hard. “Who are you?”

He didn’t answer.

Drunk Brennan muttered something under his breath, turning to slink away. I barely caught the words, but the venom in them made my skin crawl. “Wasted my whole night on a slut who can’t even wait a few minutes.”

The man beside me was on him in a second, shoving him toward the exit with enough force to make him stumble. “Leave. While you still can.”

The drunk man disappeared into the night. I barely breathed until the door swung shut behind him.

Slowly, I turned back to my table, my mind spinning. My supposed date was gone, and the stranger who had swept in like a silent protector?

He was still here.

I replayed everything in my head, the weight of realization settling in my chest like a stone. I had called him Brennan. Apologized for being late. And not once had he corrected me. He had let me believe it.

My stomach twisted.

Gemma hadn’t set me up on an incredible date. She had set me up with an entitled, drunken mess who thought he was owed my time and attention. A man who grabbed me the way my ex used to, who made me feel small and afraid.

But this stranger? The man who had slid so seamlessly into my evening, who had never needed to ask me to sit with him?

He had protected me. And now, as he made his way back through the restaurant, I couldn’t help but watch him, drawn to the quiet command in his step. The way people instinctively moved aside for him. The way his eyes—dark and unreadable—found mine through the crowd.

He sat back in his seat, as if nothing had happened, lifting his drink to his lips with infuriating composure.

Meanwhile, I felt like my entire world had just tilted off its axis.

Before I could stop myself, I shot to my feet, hands slamming onto the table.

“Who the hell are you?” I demanded.

He looked up at me, a slow smirk curving his lips.

“Not Brennan,” he said smoothly. “Though I see you’ve already figured that out.”