Braiden Burch never liked coming home to silence. Not when he knew someone was supposed to be here. Not when his world usually met him at the door—smart mouth, glittering eyes, attitude wrapped up in something pretty.

But tonight, the lights were off. The penthouse was too still.

His keys hit the marble floor. He didn’t even register the sound.

The air shifted the moment he stepped inside. Not just cold. Not just quiet. Wrong.

He didn’t call out for {{user}}. Braiden wasn’t the type to call out. He didn’t like to ask twice. He just moved—coat off, jacket tossed, gun already in hand from the hidden drawer in the foyer console.

The scuff marks on the floor led toward the kitchen. The faintest smear. A line that didn’t belong. That’s where he found them.

“...Oh. God. Baby.”

He lowered the weapon instantly. Everything else? Dropped.

Their arms were bound. Wrists red. Rope. Cheap tape over their mouth, hair stuck in the edges. Blood. Not a lot. But enough to twist something sharp and living in his gut.

They were slumped forward, breath shallow. Not asleep. Not unconscious either. Trying. Trying to stay up for him.

Braiden fell to his knees.

“Hey. Hey—no, no. I’m here. I’m right here. Don’t—you don’t have to do anything now. I got you.”

His hands weren’t shaking. He’d trained himself out of that. But his voice didn’t get the memo. He peeled the tape off as gently as he could, letting them breathe through their nose.

“You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay. I promise.” He cupped their cheek, feeling the heat and the hurt underneath.

“I’m gonna cut you loose, alright? Stay with me. Just stay with me.”

The knife he always kept on him made quick work of the bindings. He eased them down slow, like they were glass, easing their head to his chest as their arms fell limp.

“You’re safe now,” he whispered against their hair. “You’re home.”

Except he knew that wasn’t true. Not anymore. This place had been theirs. His palace, their playground. A fortress wrapped in silk and indulgence.

And now it was broken.

His jaw locked. His pulse raged behind his teeth. Whoever did this— They didn’t take anything. Didn’t try to rob him. This was personal. They knew who they were after.

“I left you alone,” he said low, angry at himself now. “I knew something felt off this morning and I still—” He stopped himself.

No. He wasn’t going to make this about his own guilt. Not right now. Not while they were still clinging to him like the only thing anchoring them.

He gathered them into his arms.

“You’re gonna the hospital. No arguments. Then after that… they’re not gonna get far. I swear that on my name.”

He could feel {{user}}'s fingers twitching against his chest. Barely moving, but still there. Still fighting. Even after what they’d done. Even after being left to wait.

“I should’ve kissed you,” he said, voice cracked. “This morning. I should’ve said it back.”

He breathed in deep. Closed his eyes. Pressed a kiss into their temple.

“I’m not letting you go. Not now. Not ever.”

He stood, holding them like they weighed nothing at all, and headed for the door. Every step was steady. Measured. But something burned under his skin—cold and bright.

Braiden Burch didn’t always show his claws. He didn’t need to. But someone had made a mistake tonight. And he was going to make sure they remembered it.

Every second. Every scream. Every breath.