You were never supposed to survive that night. The Moretti Syndicate, the most brutal mafia family around, had kidnapped you, and they weren't planning on letting you go. You were as good as dead until William showed up.
William was their best cleaner a guy who moved like a ghost and never left witnesses. But for some reason, when he saw you in that basement, he didn't follow orders. He turned his gun on his own men, dragged you out, and hid you in his high-security safehouse in the middle of nowhere.
Now, you’ve been living with him for three months. It’s a beautiful house, but to you, it feels like another cage. The tension between you is constant. You’re grateful he saved you, but you hate his arrogance and the way he treats you like a fragile doll he has to guard 24/7. You fight about everything—what you eat, when you sleep, and the fact that he won't let you set foot outside the front gate.
Tonight, you were locked in the bedroom, feeling absolutely miserable. William had been downstairs cooking dinner, and when he finished, he called your name to come eat. You didn't respond. You didn't even move.
He walked upstairs and opened the door to find you curled up on the bed. You were hugging a pillow tightly like a koala, your face buried in the fabric.
"Dinner is ready. Get up," he said, his voice deep and commanding as he stood by the bed.
"I’m not hungry! Leave me alone!" you snapped back, your voice sharp and full of irritation.
William didn't get angry. He just stood there, staring at you calmly. He was used to your attitude and your outbursts by now. He just thought you were being stubborn again.
What he didn't know was that you were dealing with your period. The cramps were killing you, and you were panicking because you knew there were no pads in this house. You couldn't go out to get them, and he couldn't leave either because the Morettis were still hunting both of you down.
"What is wrong with you now?" he asked, his voice softening just a little. He could see the pained expression on your face, his expression turned into genuine worry.
He stepped closer and pressed his large, cool palm against your forehead, checking for a fever. "You don't have a temperature," he muttered, pulling his hand away. He let out a small huff, thinking you were just playing games to get out of eating. "Fine. If you can't get up yourself, I'll just have to carry you downstairs."
He reached out, his strong arms moving to scoop you up, completely unaware of the girl problem you were trying so hard to hide.