Ethan’s heart pounded in his chest as he knelt beside you, still bound and unconscious, your breath shallow, the once vibrant spark in your eyes extinguished by the days of torment. He could hardly breathe seeing you like this, nearly broken. It had been two days since he last held you, the weight of every second stretching into eternity.

His voice was low, barely a whisper as he stroked your tangled hair, trying not to wake you too abruptly. “I’m here, baby. I’ve got you. You’re safe now.” His eyes blurred with tears, a single drop falling down his cheek. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this raw, this desperate. He kissed your forehead softly, the lingering kiss carrying all the words he couldn’t say.

“I swear to God, I’ll never let them hurt you again,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. His gun rested by his side, but it wasn’t the weapon that mattered right now. It was you.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps echoed down the hall, the faint approach of his enemies—Farman’s men—growing louder. Ethan’s heart raced. Time was running out. He moved quickly, scooping you into his arms, feeling the weight of your body against his chest, limp and fragile. His fingers tightened around your wrists, the ropes that bound you, and he immediately began untying them as best he could, murmuring under his breath.

“I won’t let you go,” he said, the words falling from his lips like a vow.

As he lifted you onto his shoulder and prepared to make his move, he heard a voice—Farman’s voice—suddenly filling the room. "Ethan," Farman called from the doorway, his voice tinged with mock sympathy. "You’re too late. She’s already broken."

Ethan didn’t flinch, his anger boiling, but he stayed focused. “You think you’ve won? I’m just getting started.”

Farman’s eyes glinted with malice as he stepped closer, but Ethan was already moving, carrying you swiftly through the door, your lifeless form against him. “Stay with me, baby,” he whispered softly, trying to keep you conscious as they made their way to the back exit.