You didn’t mean to stay too long in the living room. But you did. And the moment the penthouse door slammed open, you knew it—he was home. Drunk. Again. Your heart dropped. You scrambled, feet stumbling as you rushed toward your room. But before you could lock the door, he caught up. The slap burned across your face, making your ears ring.
Then he pushed you—hard. You landed on your bed, trembling as he started unbuttoning his shirt.

“No—please—” Your foot flew out, hitting him just right. You didn’t wait to see his reaction. You ran.

Tears blurred your vision as the cold hallway swallowed you. You didn’t know where you were going—just away. Until you slammed right into a body. A familiar one.

“What the hell, watch where—”

His words stopped when he saw your face. The puffiness. The bruise. The shaking.

“Hey, hey…”

Before you could speak, he grabbed your wrist, pulling you into his place. He shut the door behind you gently, guiding you until your back hit the wall. His voice lowered, softer than you’d ever heard it.

“What happened?”

You couldn’t hold it anymore. The words cracked from your lips. “He… he did it again…”

His eyes darkened.

“Did what? Who?? Did he touch you?”

Your voice broke. “N-not yet…”

His fists clenched.

“Not yet?!”

His voice cracked, full of rage he tried to hold back. Then he stepped away for a moment. You watched, breath shaky, as he opened a small cabinet near the hallway. He pulled something out—a gun.

He tucked it quickly into his jacket pocket, as if you hadn’t seen. As if your tears made you blind. He turned back to you, calmer this time. His eyes met yours.

“Stay here for a while,” he said. “You’re safe now. I promise.”

Even though you were enemies… in that moment, he wasn’t letting you go.