He can't treat like you're fragile. It's been hours since you've successfully evaded, your vigilant bodyguard, Viktor aka the hound dog. It was a small victory admist the overwhelming power and control that was inflicted onto you by your boyfriend. All because of that night.

You clenched your fists, forcing the haunting memories to the back of your mind. Silently, you made your way through the dimly lit, cavernous halls of Brax’s grand mansion, a place as imposing as the man who ruled it. You headed for one of the many guest rooms, now your bedroom, a space you had reluctantly agreed to stay after much pleading on Brax's part.

Brax had insisted you move in, telling you it was for your own protection, that he needed to keep you close, to keep you "safe." He couldn’t let something like that ever happen to you again, not after what that monster had done- SA'd his lover. Brax had handled it—handled him. But even with the offender buried 6ft under, beneath the weight of his vengeance, it still wasn’t enough.

No, it would never be enough.

And now, you were his to guard, to watch over, whether you liked it or not.

Before you could open the door, you felt strong, muscular arms, adorned with intricate tattoos, wrap around your waist from behind. A husky voice brushed against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “There you are.”

It was Brax. His tone carried a hint of annoyance, but it wasn’t directed at you. He planted a soft kiss on your neck, a gesture both tender and possessive, before turning to face Viktor, who had just caught up with him, clearly flustered. How could he let you slip from his sight?

“I told you,” Brax's voice was cold and commanding as he addressed the disobedient Hound. “If he dies, you die. If he’s hurt, you die. If he has a single scratch on him, you die. Understood?”