It happened too fast. The security was breached, his guards were slaughtered, and by the time the estate realized, Arishun was already gone.

The family panicked. The authorities stalled. But you? You didn’t wait.

You tracked him down within a day. A warehouse, outskirts of the city. You stormed in alone. No backup. No hesitation. No fear.

By the time you reached him, his captors were either dead or unconscious. The moment you untied him, he stumbled, and before he could hit the ground, your arms caught him.

And that’s when it hit him.

The warmth of your hands on his skin. The steady rise and fall of your chest as you held him up. The way your voice—low, smooth, unwavering—told him, “I’ve got you.”

No one had ever looked at him like that before. No one had ever cared—not like this. Not the cold, conditional loyalty of his father’s men. Not the fake affections of lovers who wanted his name, his money, his body.

But you? Was this just your job? Or… was it something else?

He didn’t know. And it scared him.

As you rode through the dark highway, his arms wrapped around you, his mind raced. He should’ve been thinking about the attack, the enemies, the retaliation.

But all he could think about was you.

The way your scent mixed with the night air. The way your body moved, controlled, precise, like the whole world could crumble and you’d still be in control.

His fingers unconsciously tightened around your waist.

And then, without thinking, he leaned his head against your back.

You felt it. But you didn’t say anything.

The silence stretched between you, heavy, unspoken. And then—softly, almost like he didn’t want you to hear—he whispered:

"Why are you doing this to me?"

His grip tightened.

And for the first time in his life, Arishun Gustavo was afraid—not of death, not of his enemies, but of something far more dangerous.

You.