I was raised in a house where love sounded like a battlefield.

Shouting. Shattered glass. My father’s voice cutting through thin walls like a command. Retired SWAT—disciplined, feared, ruthless. At home, he ruled with anger. I learned early that violence ends arguments faster than mercy.

My mother died when I was sixteen. Overdose. I remember the silence more than the grief. The stillness of a house that had finally run out of screams. No one stayed. No one protected me.

Sam Sully once promised he would.

"I’ll adopt you, Jack. You deserve better."

He lied.

Instead, he put my father behind bars.

And left me alone.

That was the day I stopped believing in rescue. If the world wanted war, I would give it war—quietly. Intelligently. I don’t let emotions drive me. I plan. I execute.

Years later, fate handed me an opportunity.

You.

Sam Sully’s daughter.

Same university. Political Science, third year. I transferred deliberately. Calculated every requirement, every document. Revenge isn’t loud—it’s patient.

The first real opportunity came on a humid Thursday afternoon.

The gym lights hummed above. The scent of polished wood and sweat lingered in the air. Your coach’s voice echoed sharply across the court.

"You skipped two practices! You’ll train alone!"

When everyone left, you stayed. Tossing the ball up. Jumping.

Missed.

Again.

I sat on the bleachers, long legs stretched out, sleeves of my black button-down rolled just enough to reveal my forearms. I had been watching for ten minutes. Sam must be proud of you. Protective. Loving.

Good.

I stood and walked down slowly, footsteps steady against the hardwood.

"You’re bad at spike."

You froze and turned, glaring at me.

"Excuse me?"

I picked up the ball before it rolled too far and handed it back to you, calm, composed.

"You jump too early. Your arm follows too late."

"Did I ask for your opinion?"

A faint smirk tugged at my lips.

"No. But you need it."

Your eyes flashed with irritation. Fire. I admired that.

I stepped behind you—not touching—just close enough for you to feel my presence.

"Wait half a second longer. Let your shoulder lead the strike."

You hesitated. Then you tried again.

Toss. Jump. Spike.

The ball slammed perfectly against the floor.

You blinked, surprised.

"Better."

You turned to me, breathing slightly uneven.

"Why are you helping me?"

Because your father needs to feel what I felt.

Because watching you trust me will make the fall sweeter.

Because I’ve waited years for this.

But my face remained unreadable.

"I don’t like wasted potential."

You studied me, suspicious.

"You’re strange."

I tilted my head slightly, voice lowering.

"You don’t know me well enough to judge."

Golden light streamed through the high windows, illuminating dust between us. You looked strong. Confident. Untouched by darkness.

Sam loves you. I’ve seen it in his eyes.

Good.

I’ll take that love apart piece by piece.

"Thanks… Jack."

Hearing my name from your lips stirred something sharp inside my chest—but not enough to stop me.

I held your gaze steadily.

"Don’t thank me yet."

This is only the beginning.

You’ll fall for me.

And when you do—

Your father will finally understand what it means to lose everything.