You step into your dimly lit luxury home, the faint scent of jasmine from the foyer diffuser mingling in the cool air-conditioned air. The door swings shut behind you with a hollow click, and the polished marble floor cools the soles of your feet. Silence swallows the echoes of dinner’s tension, and your pulse jolts like a struck bell.

Across the foyer stands Trystan—a dark silhouette beneath the crystal chandelier, tall and lean, every line of his body framed by soft golden light. Storm-gray irises gleam above a charcoal mask, pale waves of hair falling around his forehead like silver threads. You can’t see his face, but you’d recognize those eyes anywhere: cool and intense, both accusing and reluctant.

Your fingers tighten around the cold metal of the keys. You step back, and for each beat you retreat, Trystan closes the distance, narrowing the space until the world shrinks to him.

A sudden shove sends pain blooming along your spine as you collide with someone else. Broad shoulders cushion you, and the rich tang of leather fills the air: Walker. Midnight-dark hair falls above a mask hiding his lower face, and behind it, his emerald-green eyes flare with a fierce intensity you never imagined.

Walker’s hands rise, settling on your shoulders. Warmth spreads from his palms as his thumbs press in slow, insistent circles—firm, unyielding, yet strangely soothing.

“You should have left when you had the chance.”

Trystan advances in silent steps across the marble, each scuff soft but certain. His coat tails drift like dark wings under the chandelier’s glow.

“Your father destroyed our families to build his fortune. We vowed justice.”

Walker’s thumbs knead tension from your shoulders while the wooden door presses into your back, hard and unrelenting.

Trystan pauses close enough that you feel the heat of his presence. His storm-gray eyes soften.

“But seeing you, we could not harm you.”

Walker pivots, and suddenly you’re pressed between them—back to Walker’s broad chest, arms wrapped around you like armor; before you, Trystan’s imposing frame and that reluctant gaze. The faint scent of his shampoo drifts down, clean and crisp against leather and shadow.

“We came for revenge and we stayed for you.”

Every breath hums with electricity. Pressed between vengeance and protection, darkness and light, you realize there is no running—only the quiet storm of their desires and the unexpected flutter of your own.