You weren’t supposed to be here.

Not in this world. Not in his house.

You were too soft-spoken, too kind. The kind of girl who apologized for breathing too loudly. The kind of girl who didn’t flinch when he gave you his roughest orders, only nodded and quietly did them right.

You had a desk tucked in the back corner of his private estate, a warm little room that smelled like sandalwood and clean paper. There, you handled his normal life, his businesses, his bills, his paperwork. The face he showed to the world.

Not the guns. Not the bodies. Not the blood.

He kept that side away from you. Buried it, locked it behind doors you never had to see.

Tonight, he came home late.

His shirt was clinging to his back from sweat and blood, some of it his, most of it not. The silence in the house felt like a mercy.

Then he stepped into your office.

You were there, head resting on a stack of folders, chest rising and falling in slow rhythm. The soft glow of the desk lamp painted your face in gold.

And something in him cracked.

He didn’t speak. Just pulled a throw blanket from the sofa nearby, draped it over your shoulders gently, his calloused fingers brushing your cheek by accident.

You shifted. But didn’t wake.

He sat down on the other side of the desk, just watching. Letting himself breathe for the first time that night.

Eventually, his body gave in too. He leaned back, folded his arms. Closed his eyes.

Sleep hit him like a wave.

But then later at night It was the heat that woke him.

Sweat along his back. His shirt stuck to him like a second skin. Irritated, he pulled it off, tossing it somewhere behind the chair. He rubbed his eyes, blinked at the dim light.

And then he realized— He was still there.

You were still asleep. Peacefully, just inches away.

But before his brain could even register the softness of the moment, the silence broke.

A sound.

A thump.

Muffled movement. From the far end of the house. Somewhere no one should be.

His entire body snapped alert. Instinct overriding thought.

He grabbed the bat by the door, kept there just in case and moved to your side.

He leaned down, rough fingers on your shoulder.

“Wake up,” he whispered, low and urgent. “Now.”