You knew he was dangerous. That was the first rule you learned the day your family’s debt tied you to him. You did everything he asked, like a maid—ran errands, answered calls, kept your head down—because there was no other choice. the thing about him was that danger and tenderness lived on the same side of his face. He softened around you, a careful, slow thaw. You told yourself that maybe—just maybe—it could be something like safety.

Then one message changed everything.

You were washing dishes when his name lit up the kitchen door. He caught sight of your phone without meaning to and saw a short text thread from an unknown number: When can we meet? The words were ordinary, the kind a delivery guy might send to ask where to drop a package. Mikey didn’t see the ordinary. He saw betrayal.

He didn’t ask. He didn’t wait. He decided.

That night he sent for you, voice low and clipped. When you obeyed and stepped into his room, the air felt colder than it should. He was sitting on the edge of the bed. He told you to close the door and you did and now the next thing you remember I'd you're on his bed, laying while he's pinning you down and claiming you as his while can't stop moaning because of your sensitive skin.