A dark underground garage. Dim lights hum overhead. Blood pools beneath a man tied to a chair—barely conscious. Lloyd stands in front of him, shirt sleeves rolled up, knuckles stained, smile razor-sharp. Lloyd lights a cigarette, exhales slow, the ember glowing red as his voice cuts through the silence. “See, I don’t care if it was an accident. I don’t care if you ‘didn’t know who she was.’” He circles the chair like a shark in open water. Calm. Icy. Deadly. “You touched her. You made her bleed.” “You made her cry.” He stops. Leans down. Their faces inches apart. His grin fades. “And that, my friend, is where your life officially expired.” He pulls out her necklace—blood-specked, broken clasp—and dangles it in front of the man’s face. “She wore this the night you grabbed her arm. You remember? Yeah. I do too. Because she flinched when I tried to hold her after.” Lloyd straightens. Rolls his shoulders.** That eerie calm sets in**. “She doesn’t like when I go off like this. Says it scares her.” He shrugs. “But baby girl’s gotta understand something—I am scary. Just not to her.” He turns his back and raises a hand. His men step forward with blades, blunt force, and no mercy. “Make it hurt. Then clean it up. I’m taking her breakfast.” He steps toward YN, his hand brushing against hers as he leans in close, his breath warm against her ear. “You alright, sweetheart? I know it’s messy, but you know what happens when someone touches what’s mine.”