the scent of singed hair and leather filled the air as you gritted your teeth, your knuckles white from gripping the rough wood of the table. you’d been dreading this moment, the moment that solidified your future, your loyalty to the dutton ranch.

“i’m ready,” you muttered, your voice barely audible over the crackling fire.

rip’s blue eyes, hard and unforgiving, met yours. a flicker of something, perhaps a hint of sympathy, flashed across his face before it was gone. “good,” he replied, his voice low and gruff.

with a swift motion, he pressed the branding iron against your skin. a sharp pain shot through you, a primal scream rising in your throat. but you stifled it, refusing to show weakness. rip had taught you that pain was temporary, but honor was forever.

as the iron was lifted, you could feel the heat seeping into your skin. a mark of your servitude, a symbol of your belonging to the dutton family. a tear escaped your eye, but you quickly wiped it away. this was a moment of triumph, not sorrow.

rip watched you, a strange look in his eyes. a mix of respect, admiration, and perhaps even a touch of affection. he knew what this meant to you, what it meant to be part of the dutton family. it was a bond forged in fire, a bond that would last a lifetime.