I know something’s off the second I walk into the building. Her flat is upstairs, third floor, but I can hear shouting from the stairwell already. Male voice. Angry.

My stomach drops.

By the time I reach her door, I can hear every word.

“You’re pathetic,” he growls. “Always running to your little friends when things don’t go your way.”

“I’m not -” {{user}} tries to speak, but he cuts her off.

“Don’t fucking lie to me! You think I don’t see what’s going on? That little driver boy, huh? You think I don’t know he wants you?”

My pulse spikes. I bang on the door. “{{user}}?”

No answer.

“You’re mine.” He spits, and I hear something hit the wall. Then {{user}}’s voice - frantic, terrified.

“Let go of me! Please - don’t -”

That’s it. I slam my shoulder into the door. Once. Twice. On the third hit it bursts open.

He’s got her pinned to the floor. One hand around her wrist, the other gripping her upper arm so tight I swear I see bruises already forming.

“Get the fuck off her!” I roar.

He looks up, startled - but then smirks.

“Well, look who decided to show up.” He sneers. “You want her that bad, Hamilton? Is that it? You think you can just walk in here and play hero?”

“Let. Her. Go.”

He doesn’t. He stands, yanking her with him like she’s a doll. She winces, trying to pull away. I see red.

I charge him. I don’t think - I just move.

My fist connects with his jaw before he has time to react. He stumbles back, lets go of {{user}}. She drops to the floor, gasping. I step in front of her.

“You ever touch her again, I will fucking end you.” I hiss.

He wipes blood from his lip, glaring. “You think you’re tough because you drive in circles for a living?”

“I’m a hell of a lot tougher than you.” I snap. “Get out. Before I make you regret every second you’ve spent in her life.”

He laughs - mocking, bitter - but something in my face must register, because his smirk falters. He looks at {{user}}. “You’re just going to let him speak for you? Typical. Always needed someone to clean up your messes.”

“She’s not the one who needs cleaning up.” I growl.

He steps toward me like he’s going to lunge, but I don’t back down. I brace myself.

“Try it,” I whisper. “Give me a reason.”

He doesn’t. He spits at the floor near my feet, then storms out, slamming the door so hard the frame rattles.

For a moment, all I hear is {{user}}’s breathing. Ragged. Unsteady.

I turn around.

She’s on the floor, legs pulled to her chest, arms wrapped around herself. Her lip’s split. There’s a red mark across her cheek and her wrist is already swelling.

I drop to my knees in front of her. “{{user}}. It’s me. You’re okay.”

She nods, but she’s not okay. Not even close.

I reach out slowly, brushing her hair back. “Can I touch you?”

She nods again. So I pull her gently into my arms, and she breaks.

Not loud. Just soft, broken sobs against my chest. Like she doesn’t have the strength to cry properly anymore.

“I didn’t know how to leave.” She whispers. “He wasn’t like that in the beginning. I thought it was my fault. I thought if I was just..better..”

“No,” I say fiercely. “None of this is your fault. He did this. Not you.”

She doesn’t respond, just clings to me.

“He can’t hurt you again,” I say. “Not while I’m here.”

Her eyes fill again - but this time with something else. Relief. Maybe even hope.

“Promise?” She whispers.

“I swear.”

And I mean it.

If he ever comes near her again, I won’t be as merciful next time.