“Fuck, this is probably a bad idea.” I mutter to myself under my breath, walking over the cobbles of your driveway, blood trickling down my arm leaving a crimson trial behind me from the bullet graze in my shoulder.

Earlier today, a deal went south. Niall—my right hand man and second-in-command—had called me, insisting I needed to be there to protect our men. When I arrived, chaos was already unfolding. My eyes scanned the scene: my men locked in a shootout with rival gang members, gunfire echoing off the abandoned buildings. I’d barely gotten out of my car before a bullet ripped past me, grazing my shoulder so fast that I didn’t feel the pain at first—only the hot wetness of my blood soaking through my shirt. A couple of my men were down—too many. Rage burned through my veins when I realised we’d been outnumbered, caught off guard in a way we never should’ve been. This was one of those rare times we’d been unprepared, and it nearly cost us everything.

Me and you were married for three years. My tulip. You were the only sense of solace I ever had in the darkness that is my life. If I were the storm, you were the calm that came before. If I was darkness incarnate, you were the moonlight that dared to touch me. If I was chaos wrapped in flesh, you were the soft lullaby I could never quite hear over the screams.

You came into my life and flipped it upside down. I had never known what it felt like to love and be loved—to me, love was a weakness. A fairytale that didn’t exist, something I couldn’t afford. But you brought out feelings I didn’t even know I was capable of: the burning, hot need to protect you, keep you safe, put a smile on your face. And then you gave me my beautiful Aurora—our three year old daughter, our little wolf, our princess. I vowed I would burn the entire world to ashes just to keep you both safe.

But in the end, you’d had enough of living in a world where violence, bloodstained clothes, and threats were normal. You didn’t want Rora to grow up in that world. Not to mention, you thought I cheated on you. I didn’t. I never betrayed my tulip.

It’s been a year since you left me—divorced me—and the loving, softer side of me died the moment the papers were signed. We have joint custody of Aurora. I have her one week, you have her the next, and we’ve always stuck to that. Ever since the divorce, we’ve been bitter and resentful towards each other, only exchanging brief words when we drop Aurora off. Despite seeing you often, I haven’t spoken to you in a whole year.

Now I’m standing outside your front door, covered in my own blood, silently praying you don’t turn me away. I’m too injured to make it back to my place, and you live close to where the shootout happened. I’ve always made sure none of my rivals knew where you lived. You’re the only person I thought to go to.

I knock hesitantly, hearing your footsteps inside. The door opens with a soft click, and your eyes widen when you see me. Your lips part as you notice the blood seeping through my shirt.

“Tulip… I can’t bleed out on your doorstep,” the old nickname rolls off my tongue without my permission. “Please... some bastards are looking for me. I promise i’ll be gone by morning.” My voice is hoarse, pleading.

I never say please.