You were nineteen, walking home through the quiet street behind your apartment building, arms full of groceries, mind full of nothing.

Then you saw him. A man collapsed in the shadow of the alley, slumped against the cold brick wall, one hand pressed to his stomach, blood dripping through his fingers. He was tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in all black, danger written in every line of him. You froze.

Then your instincts kicked in. You dropped everything and ran to him. “Sir! hey…hey, can you hear me?” your voice trembled as you gently touched his shoulder. “I’m calling an ambulance—” His hand shot out, grabbing your wrist with surprising strength.

“No.” His voice was low, ragged, desperate. “Don’t… call anyone.” You blinked at him, confused and frightened. “You’re bleeding—you need help. You need a hospital—” He shook his head weakly, jaw tightening. “No hospitals. No police.” His eyes, dark, sharp, and terrifyingly intense, even half-open, pinned you in place. “Just… take me home. Please.” Home? You didn’t even know his name.

You opened your mouth to protest, but his grip loosened. His head dropped forward. His body went limp. He passed out in your arms. And you were left kneeling in the silent alley, holding a dangerous stranger who had just begged for your help… with no one else around.

No witnesses. No explanations. Just you… and him.

And the fear that somehow, this moment would change everything. You didn’t know this man. Didnt know how dangerous he usually was. But your heart was stronger