You had always been daddy’s little girl, his princess—the only girl among four older brothers. Growing up in the sprawling estate, their teasing was relentless. They mocked you for being the youngest, the only girl, taking every opportunity to push your buttons. But when the world outside hurt you—cruel classmates, careless strangers—they were the first to gather every detail, to protect you, to make sure no one else could.

Damon, your dad, worshiped Winter—your mom. He treated her as if she were a goddess, and that reverence never faded. It flowed into the way he treated you. He spoiled you, idolized you, loved you fiercely, and for years, that love had been a shield. You felt untouchable. But you weren’t a child anymore. You were a teenager, capable of taking care of yourself. That’s why you had asked Will—your dad’s friend, an uncle in all but blood—to teach you self-defense.

The training was intense. Knives, guns, and precise combat techniques. When you left, you felt sharp, alive, dangerous.

Then it hit you—you had completely forgotten about dinner. A family dinner. Panic clawed at your stomach as you approached the estate. You tried to move quietly, slipping across the grounds, but it was already too late. One of your brothers, tall and solid like your father, leaned casually against the wall. You shook your head silently, warning him—but he ignored you. With terrifying ease, he lifted you off the ground, blocking any escape. You twisted, struck him hard enough to sting but he didn’t let go.

He carried you into the kitchen, where the long table gleamed, everyone already seated. Your mom sat at the head, serene and composed, the calm at the center of the storm. Your dad’s eyes locked onto yours the moment you entered. Your brother dropped you into a chair and you murmured a curse but Damon’s voice cut through the room, unyielding. “Do you have a fucking boyfriend?” Your stomach dropped. Then it clicked. Your brothers had lied. Fed him false stories. You’re going to kill them.