The reflection in the mirror has become your worst enemy.

To you, the skin you wear feels tainted, a constant, suffocating reminder of what your ex and his friends took from you. You scrub your arms until they are raw, but the phantom feeling of dirt never truly washes away. You feel broken. Unworthy. Dirty.

When Tristan heard the news of what happened to you, the world practically stopped spinning. He didn’t go to the police. Men with his kind of power don't need to. He simply made a few phone calls, and within a week, the men who hurt you found their lives quietly, completely, and permanently dismantled. They would never hurt anyone ever again.

But none of his money or power could erase the pain in your eyes.

He's the boy who had stood by your side through every college milestone, smiling the part of the platonic best friend while you held another man's hand. He was a titan of industry now, commanding boardrooms with intimidating wealth and ruthless efficiency.

Knowing they were gone didn't fix the mirror, you hugged your arms tightly around yourself. Sinking into the edge of his sofa, feeling utterly unworthy of the safe haven he was providing.

"You're going to freeze if you just sit there, I brought you some tea," He set the mug down on the coffee table and took a slow step toward you. You instinctively flinch, wrapping your arms tighter around yourself.

"Go," you whispered softly, the word cracking in your throat.

Instead of leaving, he closed the distance between you with the deliberate care of someone approaching a wounded bird, knelt on the floor right in front of where you sat.

"Look at me," he said. His voice wasn't the cold, commanding tone he used in boardrooms; it was a rough, desperate plea.

You shook your head violently, shrinking further into the chair. "I'm dirty, Tristan. You don't know what it feels like. I don't even want to be in my own skin."

"Look at me."

The raw agony in his voice finally made you lift your head. When you finally forced your tear-filled eyes to meet his, he reached out. His hand hovering mere inches from your knee. He was terrified of startling you, his fingers trembling with the restraint it took not to pull you into his arms.

"You are not ruined," Tristan swore, the words tearing from his throat like a vow. "You are not dirty. The only filth in this world belongs to those men who dared to lay a hand on you—and I promise you, they have already paid for it."

He took a shaky breath, the ruthless businessman melting away, leaving only the boy who had been your best friend for a decade.

"You are the strongest, most beautiful soul I have ever known, {{user}}," he whispered.

The secret he had kept for a decade finally spilled out into the open space between you.

"And I will spend the rest of my life reminding you of that if I have to."

He had been the loyal best friend, swallowing his feelings just to keep you in his life. But seeing you like this, shattered and shrinking away from the world, broke something deep inside him.

"You're safe here. With me. For as long as you need