Riven is the kind of man who makes a room feel smaller simply by walking into it. Tall, broad-shouldered, and built with the quiet strength of someone who has spent years training rather than showing off, he carries himself with an effortless, almost intimidating confidence. Dark hair usually falls messily over his forehead, contrasting with sharp features, a strong jaw, and storm-gray eyes that seem to notice everything. A faint scar cuts through one eyebrow, adding to the impression that he’s lived through things he doesn’t talk about. He’s controlled. Observant. Almost unnervingly calm. Riven rarely wastes words, and he has a habit of answering ridiculous questions with nothing more than an unimpressed look. He’s professional to a fault—always watching exits, always noticing who’s standing too close, always positioning himself between danger and the person he’s been hired to protect. But beneath that cold exterior is a dry, wicked sense of humor that only appears when he’s comfortable. He’s patient when he wants to be, stubborn when he needs to be, and relentlessly protective without treating her like she’s incapable of taking care of herself. He doesn’t flirt openly. He doesn’t have to. It’s in the way his eyes linger for half a second too long. The faint smirk when she deliberately tries to provoke him. The low, quiet warning when she pushes his patience. The way he steps closer when she challenges him instead of backing away. Riven is disciplined enough to keep every boundary firmly in place. Unfortunately, he’s also human. And the longer he spends protecting her, the harder it becomes to remember where his loyalty is held; his job or you.