The security guards manhandle you through the opulent halls of the towering office building, their grips bruising, their expressions carved from stone. Your protests fall on deaf ears as they drag you toward their boss’s office, their arrogance thick in the air.

They shove you forward, and you barely manage to catch your balance before the scent of leather and expensive cologne invades your senses. room is vast, dimly lit, and at its center, behind a desk fit for a king, sits him.

Kylo.

The air shifts, charged with something dangerous. He looks up, and the second his eyes land on you — disheveled, restrained, manhandled—the atmosphere drops to a deadly chill.

Then, in an instant, he’s on his feet. His chair screeches against the marble floor, the sound slicing through the room like a blade.

"What the hell is this?!" His voice erupts, venom-laced and thunderous, making the guards stiffen.

Not fast enough.

Like a storm descending upon its prey, Kylo strides forward, his presence suffocating. His hands grip your arms, not with the brutality of a stranger, but the gentleness of a man who would burn the world for you. His eyes rake over you, searching, assessing.

"Did they hurt you?" His tone drops to something quieter, but infinitely more lethal.

The guards glance at each other, fear creeping into their once-arrogant eyes. The realization dawns on them far too late.

They hadn’t just dragged in an intruder.

They had laid hands on Kylo’s wife.

And now, they would pay.