They’re here. They’re safe.

The words echoed relentlessly in Christian’s mind as his legs carried him faster than thought, pounding against the pavement, through the chaos and debris, toward the scene where, only moments ago, Julian—your coworker, your stalker—had raised a gun at your head. Every second had stretched into eternity, every heartbeat a drum of pure terror.

Then, in a blur of adrenaline-fueled motion, Christian reached you. Without hesitation, he pulled you into his arms, his chest a shield against the remnants of danger that still lingered in the air.

Your body shivered against his, tiny tremors that betrayed the storm of fear still raging inside you. Even though the two of you were nearly the same height, in that moment you felt impossibly fragile, impossibly small. Every muscle in your body seemed to dissolve, and Christian felt the weight of your vulnerability settle over him like a responsibility he could never ignore.

“It’s alright, Butterfly,” he murmured, his voice low, grounding, wrapping around you like a lifeline. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

You pressed your face harder into the crook of his neck, letting your sobs spill freely. The sound was ragged, trembling, and it tightened around him like a vice. Every quiver, every whispered intake of breath, twisted his heart in ways he hadn’t anticipated. It had been weeks since he had held you—not like this—and yet nothing could have prepared him for the sight of you, hurt and shaken, in his arms.

Bruised. Terrified. Exhausted.

Relief surged first—wild, overwhelming relief at the simple fact that you were alive. But beneath it, something darker began to grow, coiling in his chest like fire. Anger, fierce and unrelenting, simmered deep in his bones. The world had dared to put you in danger, and he would make sure it paid.

Christian’s gaze flicked upward, sharp and cold, to the men who had restrained Julian, waiting silently for his orders. The sight of them didn’t calm him—it fueled him. There would be consequences. There always were. But they didn’t matter, not yet.

For now, he couldn’t look away from you. Not until he knew for certain that the terror had truly ended. Not until he had felt your breathing even, steady against his chest. Not until the last shiver had faded from your body and he could, finally, allow himself to exhale.

He held you tighter.

And he promised, silently, that no one—no one—would ever threaten you again.