She sat waiting for her date, fingers tracing the rim of her glass. He was late—too late. A ripple of unease spread through the restaurant as, one by one, the guests began to rise, whispering nervously before slipping out the doors.

Her pulse quickened. She lifted her head, and that’s when she saw him. Aaron Warner. Her family’s greatest enemy.

He entered with an air of quiet menace, his guards flanking him like shadows. One of them carried an enormous bouquet of blood-red roses, a grotesque contrast to the tension that choked the room. Warner, calm as ever, was dabbing crimson stains from his suit as if violence were nothing more than an inconvenience.

Without asking, he lowered himself into the chair across from her, his presence overwhelming, suffocating. He didn’t need to raise his voice; his words carried the weight of certainty.

“Your date isn’t coming,” Warner said softly, his eyes never leaving hers.

He knew he would kill for her. He knew he would die for her.