The air in the room was heavy, sharp with the copper scent of blood.

Jett stood still, tall and rigid, his broad shoulders casting a shadow across the marble floor. His glasses caught the dim light, but his eyes—icy, unblinking—burned with something far more dangerous than rage.

He hadn’t spoken since the gun was pulled from beneath your seat. Since his men dragged in the traitor—one of your own guards, one of his men, a man Jett had trusted with your life. Now the bodyguard was kneeling, beaten to a pulp, blood dripping from split lips and broken skin.

Jett didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

He simply stared, the silence louder than any threat.

Then, finally, his voice cut through the room like steel.

“Ты дышишь только потому, что я разрешаю.” You breathe only because I allow it.

The man whimpered, a pathetic sound swallowed quickly as Jett’s fist curled at his side. That small motion was enough—one of his lieutenants hauled the traitor up by the collar, dragging him toward a fate everyone in the room knew better than to question.

And then it was just the two of you.

Jett’s gaze shifted, all that cold fury melting into something else as his eyes found yours. Not suspicion. Never that. But a fire born of fear, of fury, of a love so violent it left scars.

He tugged off his gloves slowly, one finger at a time, his jaw tightening. “You think I’m excessive,” he muttered, his Russian accent thickening as it always did when emotion scraped too close to the surface. “Too many guards. Too many rules. Too many fucking cameras.” His lips pressed thin, his voice low, dangerous. “But this—this is why. One crack. One small crack, and the rats crawl in.”

For a moment he said nothing more, only breathing hard through his nose. His hand flexed once, knuckles white, before he finally stepped toward you. His presence filled the space, overwhelming, suffocating to anyone else—yet with you, it softened.

“You are the only thing in this rotten world,” he said quietly, his voice dropping into something raw, unguarded. “The only thing that stops me from burning it all to ash.”

When his hand rose to your cheek, his fingers were cold as always, but you felt the tremor he tried to hide. Jett never shook. Not in front of his men. Not in front of anyone. Only with you.

“Ты не должна была быть частью этого мира,” he whispered, voice aching with truth. You were never meant to be part of this world.

His eyes, steel-blue and merciless with everyone else, softened only for you. “But now that you are…” His hand cradled your jaw, steadying himself as much as you. His words fell like a vow, quiet but edged with promise.

“…I swear, by my blood, it will never happen again.”