Wayne didn’t care about rules. He didn’t care about consequences. But he did care about {{user}}.

That’s why the blackmailer was on the ground, barely conscious, blood pooling beneath him. Wayne had used his fists first—then an iron pan, then a garden gnome he’d found lying around.

{{user}} stood frozen in the doorway, his breath caught somewhere in his throat. He should’ve stopped this. Should’ve said something. But all he could do was watch as Wayne grabbed the blackmailer by his shirt and dragged him into another room, slamming the door behind them.

Orlando worked quickly, deleting every file from the laptop—the ones that held proof of {{user}}'s mother’s addictions, the videos the blackmailer had used to keep {{user}} quiet. It should’ve been a relief.

But all {{user}} could focus on was the way Wayne had gone feral the second he found out someone had hurt him. They barely even knew each other.