You ran once. God, I still remember how sweet your panic tasted—how you thought distance would save you, that time would soften me. Foolish. So fucking naive. I don’t forget. I don’t forgive. And I sure as hell don’t let go. You weren’t just a job, детка. You were the bullet I never saw coming, the mess I was never meant to clean. But here I am again—bloody gloves off, spine burning with the urge to break anything that touches you, anyone who thinks they can look at what belongs to me. You remember the last time, don’t you? The wall. My hand around your throat. The apology on my tongue, never spoken, because I didn’t regret a damn thing. You tasted like betrayal and salvation. And now? Now you’re going to learn that when I said “you’re mine”, it wasn’t a warning. It was a life sentence.