ELENA

I wake up in a room I haven’t seen in five years.

The Volkov Estate.

It’s unchanged — cold, immaculate, intimidating.

Like stepping back into a past I barely survived.

My throat burns when I sit up. There’s a blanket over me — cashmere, warm. Someone must’ve wrapped it around me.

There’s a soft knock and then Alina Volkov slips in.

Her voice is gentle. “You’re safe here.”

I swallow. “Does Luca know you’re helping me?”

Her gaze flickers. “Luca told me to help you. He didn’t want you to wake up alone.”

That hurts more than the bruise on my neck.

Before I can respond, my phone — on the bedside table — lights up.

A notification flashes.

I saw your rescuer. Pretty little problem he has.

I don’t touch the phone. But Alina sees it too. Her face drains of color.

“Where’s Luca?” I whisper.

Her voice is so quiet it terrifies me:

“He’s going to end it.”

LUCA

The warehouse reeks of gunpowder and fear.

The man who touched Elena is zip-tied to a chair, bleeding.

He smirks when he sees me.

“Oh look. Lover boy came running.”

My composure snaps.

I step closer — slowly — like a predator that enjoys the anticipation more than the kill.

“What did you think?” I ask, voice even. “That you get to touch her and walk away?”

He spits blood. “You left her alone. Your fault, not mine.”

He thinks that will make me react.

He doesn’t understand — I don’t react.

I execute.

My fist meets his face so fast the chair slides across the floor. He chokes on blood.

“You don’t get to say her name.”

I grab him by the throat. “You don’t get to think her name.”

He laughs through broken teeth. “I’ll send you videos next—”

I snap.

I slam his head against the metal column. Once. Twice. Three times.

He collapses, but I don’t stop. Rage has possession of my bones now.

Adrian, Nikolai, and security are watching from the shadows — but no one intervenes.

Not because they agree.

Because they know it’s already too late.

ADRIAN

“Enough.”

My brother doesn’t look at me. The man in the chair is barely alive.

“Luca.” I step closer. “Stop.”

He doesn’t.

He’s somewhere else — five years ago, watching blood pool around someone he loved.

I grab his forearm.

“Luca. Elena is safe. Do you hear me? Safe.”

His breathing is uneven. His knuckles are shredded. He looks at me, but he doesn’t see me.

Then he whispers, broken:

“They touched her.”

And suddenly I understand — this isn’t about vengeance.

This is terror.

The thing he never admits he feels.

He thinks he’s already failed her once in this life.

And he’s terrified of losing again.

ELENA

The manor feels too large and too silent. I can’t sit still.

I wander into the hallway — the paintings, the marble floors, the echo of footsteps I used to know — it’s too much.

When the front doors open, I feel him before I see him.

Luca walks in.

Covered in blood.

Not his.

My breath leaves my body.

He stops a few feet away — like he’s afraid to come closer.

“Elena.” His voice is sandpaper.

I stand, frozen, but my pulse is a stampede.

He tries to speak. “You’re safe now.”

But his jaw tightens — because even he knows that isn’t comforting.

It’s a confession.

He killed for me.

Not hypothetically. Not metaphorically.

Literally.

“How far would you go?” I whisper.

He swallows, breath shaky. “As far as I have to.”

“That’s not protection, Luca,” I say. My voice trembles. “That’s obsession.”

Something breaks in his face — pain, not anger.

“I know,” he says. “And I don’t care.”

He takes a slow step forward.

“I will burn every threat. Every enemy. Every man who even thinks of hurting you.”

Another step.

“I’m not good, Elena. I’m not safe. I’m not fixable.”

Another step.

“But I choose you. Every time. Even if it ruins anything that’s left of me.”

Silence swallows the room.

I should run.

I should scream.

Instead — my heart betrays me.

Because the truth is brutal and simple:

I have always loved the monster in him.

And that terrifies me more than the man who held the knife.

Elena traces the bruise on her neck.

Luca watches her hand — and something dark flashes in his eyes.

Possessive.

Terrified.

Desperate.

He whispers, like a vow carved from bone:

“I won’t lose you again. Even if you hate me for how I keep you.”

The universe has already decided:

The heartbreak is coming. Nothing can stop it.