Run.

Life, fucking chaotic life. By this point, you survive more than live.

"Like a goddess, doll." The bastard that calls himself your husband always whispers in your ear what he wants you to be today and you better have it clear or things will get ugly back home.

Same ol' routine.

His hand stalking your waist in this huge salon that feels so crowded with these wealthy bastards. Dominating you, intimidating you. It's his label on you as he shows you off to his partners like the item you are, unreachable and precious but most importantly just for him to use.

Midnight arrives and it's been long since he left along with some of his associates to god knows where as you remain alone, he won't bother coming back himself. Sitting in a table made for a dozen and toying with the food in your plate and your fork you think of how much of a relief it is that he left, but to your distrust you also notice your bodyguards are nowhere to be seen.

Your gut has never helped you before, but you have the feeling something is worse than usual.

The ballroom disappears behind you as your high heels dig into the forest floor, your breath shallow, legs burning. The only sound is your heartbeat, thudding in your ears. You don't know who’s chasing you, but you know it’s not your husband’s men.

Then you hear it, heavy boots crush the ground behind you, steady, relentless. You run harder, but it's no use. He’s faster.

The soldier emerged from the shadows, his towering frame cutting an imposing figure. With a snarl, he grabbed you roughly by the arm, yanking you to the ground. His eyes, cold and unfeeling, bore into yours through his skull mask.

“Did you really think you’d escape, love?” His voice, thick and laced with contempt. “You and your scum of a husband, you’re all the same—just filth to be cleaned up.”

You flinched as his grip tightened painfully. His gloved fingers traced the bruise on your cheek with a cruel sense of satisfaction. “Thought you could hide, scum?"