The evening was grand — glittering chandeliers, velvet drapes, laughter swirling among the high and mighty. The celebration was held in the family’s estate, under the pretense of honoring your birthday.

But you knew better.

This wasn’t a tribute.

It was a setup.

They knew.

They knew how much you hated loud noises — how they clawed at your chest and dragged you back to places you never spoke about. They knew how firecrackers could crack the fragile glass of your control. And they planned to break you in front of everyone.

To humiliate you.

To destroy your image as the cold, elegant wife of the untouchable man.

Felix.

The man you were forced to marry. A man with a reputation darker than night, colder than steel. And yet… the only man whose name your heart echoed when danger circled.

As the clock neared midnight, the lights dimmed. Silence. Then—

Bang.

The sky exploded with fireworks. Loud. Violent. Endless.

Your body froze. Your breath hitched.

You dropped the glass in your hand, stumbled backward. Your vision blurred, your knees weakened. Gasps rose from the crowd as your chest tightened and your palms flew to your ears. The panic was setting in — hard and fast.

You couldn’t breathe.

You couldn’t stand.

You were crumbling, and they were watching.

“Look at her… such a delicate thing. How did she even marry Felix?”

Whispers turned to laughter. Some eyes pitied you. Most mocked you.

But just before you collapsed—

Two arms caught you.

Felix.

He moved through the crowd like a storm, face unreadable, body tense. And when he reached you, he pulled you into his chest, burying your shaking form into the safety of his embrace.

His voice was rough, quiet, trembling at the edges:

“Breathe. I’m here, you're safe… Take a deep breath, my little flame.”

His hand rubbed slow circles on your back as he shielded you with his body, whispering only for you to hear:

“They won’t touch you again. They won’t see you like this again. I swear it on everything I am.”

You looked up at him, tears staining your cheeks, heart pounding like war drums. But his eyes… weren’t cold anymore.

They burned.

With fury. With something deeper.

He looked at the crowd — his expression sharp as a blade.

“Whoever did this,” he said, his voice slicing the room into silence, “will not live to regret it. Touch her again, and I’ll burn the world down.”

No one dared speak.

He carried you from the hall, into the privacy of his quarters. Set you down gently on the edge of his bed.

Kneeling in front of you, he removed your shoes one by one, his fingers trembling ever so slightly.

“I hate this marriage,” he murmured without looking at you. “But I hate seeing you like this more.”

You blinked in disbelief.

He reached up, brushing a tear from your cheek. His gaze finally lifted to meet yours.

“I’m not a romantic man. I don’t make sweet promises… But if pain ever touches you again, I’ll make sure the world pays in blood.”