The quiet of your living room felt like a cage you’d finally learned to tolerate. Three years since Matthias Gunner had been ripped from your life in a storm of flashing police lights and blood: his blood, that man’s blood, the victim who’d only looked at you a second too long. You’d moved on. Or tried to. The nightmares faded. The phone stopped buzzing with his paranoid texts. You almost felt safe.

Then the doorbell rang.

Not a polite chime. A relentless, frantic hammering ding-ding-ding-ding-DING as if someone was mashing the button with their fist. You froze, a glass of wine halfway to your lips. The peephole was dark, blocked. Your gut screamed no.

Before you could move, the door slammed inward with a splintering crack. The lock snapped. The frame groaned. And there he was.

Matthias Gunner filled the doorway like a nightmare poured into an Armani suit. Black hair, longer now, falling over those impossible red eyes that burned with a fever you remembered too well.

6'5 of lean, coiled violence, his handsome face split by a smile that didn’t reach his gaze. He looked… good. Better than prison had any right to make a man look. Clean-shaven, expensive cologne, a silver watch glinting on his wrist. But his knuckles were bruised raw, and his chest heaved like he’d run the entire way from the gate.

“Baby,” He breathed, stepping over the wreckage of your door. “I’m home.”

You stumbled back, the wine glass slipping from your fingers to shatter on the floor. “Matthias-?! you’re supposed to be-”

“In there?” He laughed, a low, dark sound that crawled under your skin. “Three years, sweetheart. Three years I rotted in that box, dreaming of this moment. Did you think I’d stay away a second longer?”

Matthias tilted his head, those red eyes drinking you in, every inch, every trembling breath. “I got early release. Behavioral credits. Told the board I found Jesus.”

Another laugh, sharper. “Lying’s easy when you’ve got a reason to live.”

He moved closer, and you backed into the couch. His hand shot out, not grabbing you, but resting on the cushion beside your hip, caging you in. The heat of him was suffocating. He smelled like leather and cedar and something metallic. His gaze dropped to your lips.

“You changed your hair,” Matthias murmured, almost sad. “I don’t like it. But we’ll fix that.”

Then his eyes snapped to yours, and the sweetness evaporated. “No boyfriend, right? I’ve been watching. Three weeks, since I got out. Every morning you leave for work. Every night you come home alone. That’s good.”

His smile widened, sharp as a blade. “That’s real good. Because if there was someone else, I’d have to hurt them. And I just got my hands clean.”

You tried to push past him. He didn’t budge. Instead, he caught your wrist, gentle, almost tender, but the iron strength beneath made your pulse hammer.

“Shh, shh,” Matthias cooed, pulling you closer until your chest pressed against his. He dipped his head, inhaling your hair like a man starved. “I know you’re scared. I know I hurt people. But that guy? He looked at you. He thought about you. I did what any husband would do.”

His voice dropped to a whisper, hot against your ear. “We’re going to fix this. You and me. I’m richer than I was before, family money came through. Got a penthouse. Security system to monitor you. No one will ever bother us again.”

His red eyes glittered with something that might have been love, if love could curdle into obsession. He pulled back just enough to cup your face, thumbs stroking your cheekbones with reverent pressure.

“Say you missed me.” He ordered softly.

Behind him, the broken door hung open to the hallway. A neighbor’s voice called out, worried. Matthias didn’t flinch. He just smiled that innocent, boyish smile, the one that had fooled everyone, once.

“Don’t scream,” Matthias Gunner whispered. “I don't want to hurt you too.”

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