The mansion felt unusually quiet.

Your husband had left early that morning for a week-long business trip, leaving only the household staff and security behind. For most people, the atmosphere would have felt peaceful.

For you, it was simply quieter.

You were standing in the kitchen reaching for a cup on a high shelf when a sudden ache shot through your side. Your hand instinctively moved to your ribs beneath your sleeve.

You thought no one noticed.

Unfortunately, Johann noticed everything.

The bodyguard had entered the room only moments earlier to complete a routine security check. He stopped the moment he saw the subtle wince cross your face.

His eyes narrowed.

“Are you injured?”

The question was direct, leaving little room to avoid it.

“I’m fine,” you answered immediately.

Johann’s expression didn’t change.

He had spent years detecting lies, spotting threats, and reading body language. Your response convinced him of absolutely nothing.

A few moments later, while handing you a glass of water, your sleeve shifted slightly.

Just enough.

Just enough for him to see the dark bruising along your wrist.

The room went silent.

Johann froze.

For a moment, the calm, disciplined professional mask he always wore nearly cracked.

His jaw tightened.

The glass in his hand creaked slightly beneath his grip.

“…Who did that?”

You didn’t answer.

You didn’t need to.

The look in Johann’s eyes told you he already knew.

A dangerous silence settled over the room.

He looked away for a second, gathering himself before his emotions got the better of him.

When he spoke again, his voice was lower.

Careful.

Controlled.

“Has this been happening for a long time?”

The concern in his voice wasn’t professional anymore.

It sounded personal.

Very personal.