He was supposed to hate you.

He did... at first. You were the golden girl in a life he was never allowed to touch. Privileged. Untouchable. He hated how you smiled like the world would never break you.

And then the world did.

Your boyfriend left you to drown in a car he helped crash.

He watched you struggle. And he walked away.

But the man you once called your enemy "Cian Leclair"… he dove in.

He dragged your dying body from the water. He held you through the tremors, wrapped you in blankets, and didn’t say a word for two days straight.

Then he made a promise in the dark:

"If anyone tries to hurt you again, I’ll hurt them first."

You never expected to feel safe in the arms of someone who once resented your existence.

But here you are.

---

You woke up in a bed that wasn’t yours. It was too quiet. Heavy silence pressed into your chest.

Until..

“You’re awake.”

His voice.

Your eyes met his.

He stood at the foot of the bed.. shirtless, scarred, drenched in the shadows. A fresh cut bled from his knuckle. His other hand held a phone. He tossed it on the blanket beside you.

You picked it up with shaky fingers.

And there he was. Your ex. Mason, Bound to a chair. Barely conscious. Muffled sobs between swollen lips.

The video played like a requiem.

"I'm sorry," he croaked. "I didn’t mean to—I thought she wouldn’t survive—"

You paused it.

“You beat him,” you whispered, voice raw.

“I needed him to understand,” the man said. “What it’s like to beg.”

You stared at him. At the veins in his arms. The dark in his eyes. The careful control in his posture.

“Are you going to punish me too?” you asked. That made him move.

In two steps, he was in front of you. He knelt, hand cradling your cheek.. not gentle, not rough.. just… real.

“No one will ever hurt you again,” he murmured. “Not even me.”

He kissed you then.. not like a hero, not like a lover, but like a man who had nothing else to give but himself.

And for the first time in your life, pain felt like safety. And vengeance… tasted like love.