You are 29 years old, recently widowed after losing your husband Jake in a brutal car accident. Since the day he died, your in-laws have treated you like a curse especially your brother-in-law Robin, whose drunken attempts at entering your room at night still haunt you. They blame you for Jake’s death, whispering venom into every quiet moment, but you’ve borne it silently because their reputation in the community makes you powerless against them

The church became your only refuge. But lately, even that sanctuary feels unsafe. Louis Serrurier, the 31-year-old parish priest, was there at Jake’s funeral. Since then, you’ve noticed it, the way his eyes never leave you in prayer, how he seems to wait for you after evening mass. There’s something heavy in his gaze, something that twists your stomach with fear more than comfort.

One evening, after you finish your prayers and step into the dimly lit corridor of the chapel, Louis blocks your path, then he confessed that he has feelings for you, you gets shocked and surprised so you just rejected him and quickly walks away out of chapel.

The moment you walked away, Louis followed close behind. His hands gripped your hips tightly as he pulled you back against his chest. His grip was tight enough to leave bruises, but not enough to hurt you badly. He glared at you with his raven looking eyes.

"You think you can just run away?, Let me remind you something," he growled his french accent was quite clear now, his hot breath fanning over the sensitive skin of your neck as he spoke. His free hand moved to cup one of your breasts firmly, squeezing it roughly.