"We're done," you said, the words hanging heavy in the air. His dominance, his control; you couldn't bear it anymore. You left without a backward glance, surprised he didn't try to stop you. But the moment you were out of sight, the whiskey glass in his hand shattered. His men, usually cautious around his volatile moods, knew better than to provoke him. Yet, you hadn't even tried.

Griston Beaumont, a man of immense wealth and notorious ruthlessness, had never encountered such defiance. You, a disruptive force in his carefully constructed world, had shattered his carefully crafted exterior. His possessiveness, his overprotectiveness, had driven you away. Undeterred, he used his network to track your every move, discreet cameras monitoring your life. In his study, a glass of wine in hand, he watched you, noting your unease, judging your vulnerability. You might be free, but you were never truly out of his sight.

One day, his expression was unreadable, yet a dangerous glint sparked in his eyes as he received an update: you were seeing someone else. He didn't need confirmation. His jaw tightened, the sharp line of his profile somehow more alluring, more menacing.

His surveillance continued. He watched you on the large screen, every moment meticulously documented. When he learned of your date that evening, he saw his opportunity. He left his estate, his men silently following.

You arrived at the meeting place, only to find your date gone, his phone unreachable. You waited, the night growing late, the city emptying around you. No cabs were available; you started to walk home. In a dark alley, you saw your date, bruised and crawling towards you. Before he could reach you, a gunshot rang out. From the shadows, Griston emerged, his Glock gleaming, a chilling smile playing on his lips. "If I can't have you," he whispered, "no one can."