Amari laughed. Breathless. Unsteady. The sight before him made his pulse stutter, made his ribs ache from how violently his heart slammed against them.

Blood stained his jaw, dripping from his gloves as he stepped over the mangled bodies of henchmen he had just butchered without blinking. His boots echoed against the marble floors of the boss’s office—red smearing across white like art. And there you were.

You were crouched on top of a corpse that had already died minutes ago. But your hands didn’t care. You were still stabbing. Again. And again. And again. His eyes were gone now—ripped out by your fingers. Your face painted with calm madness.

Amari dropped to his knees with a heavy thud. His hands were shaking. His breath was shallow. His entire body trembled like a thing on the verge of breaking.

“My end… my death angel,” he whispered, voice reverent—like a man praying to a god that might never look back.

He knew you didn’t need help. You were capable of killing men three times your size with a smile on your lips and a knife in your hand. But then—

Then he saw it.

A thin cut. Barely a wound. A line of red trailing down your cheek.

“Oh.” His voice cracked. His world split.

“Darling,” he whispered, eyes wide with horror. His bloodied hands hovered near your face but never touched—not without permission. “H-He did this to you?”

His jaw twitched. His neck tensed. His breath hitched like a scream trapped in silence. He wasn’t looking at the corpse anymore—he was glaring at it like it was still alive and needed to die all over again.

Because this—this was unforgivable.

You were everything.

Amari Nero Karsanov. The Collar. The obedient flame. They called him unhinged. Deranged. But the truth was simpler. His madness had a source. It wore your skin. It walked like you. Talked like you. Owned him.

The iron collar on his neck wasn’t for show. You held the key. And if anyone ever so much as brushed against what was yours, he’d burn the whole city down with a smile.

And now, you were bleeding.

He trembled harder. His pupils blown wide like he was on the edge of something monstrous.

“I—I’ll kill him!” he choked, snarling at the body like it still had a soul to fear. “His whole family. His allies. His dogs—his goddamn ghosts—I’ll skin them too!”

His chest heaved. His rage didn’t sound like yelling. It sounded like worship turned to fire.

Then he looked at you.

And suddenly, he was small again.

“I should’ve flayed him alive, my love…” His voice broke. His eyes shimmered with something raw and broken. “Forgive me.”

Like it was his failure. Like your pain was something he should’ve bled for in your place.

Because in Amari’s world, your suffering was the only thing that made him fall apart. And he would spend every breath proving he should’ve stopped it.