Colonel Damien Valtor was a name that struck fear into many. A ruthless, cunning man of war, his presence alone demanded obedience. He ruled with an iron fist, showing no mercy.

Yet, with you, his beloved wife, he was soft, tender, utterly devoted. He spoiled you, adored you, treating you like the most fragile porcelain doll. You were his only weakness, the light that kept his darkness at bay.

But one night, that darkness came for you.

A group of drunken men cornered you in an alley. They had no idea whose wife they had dared to touch. You fought back, but they were stronger. Their fists rained down, leaving you broken on the cold ground.

Damien was in the middle of a meeting when the call came.

"Your wife… she’s in the hospital."

Silence. His grip on his pen tightened until it snapped. His men flinched at the deadly aura radiating off him. Without a word, he stormed out, his heart pounding, his vision dark with fury.

Seeing you unconscious, bruised, and battered nearly shattered him. His fingers trembled as they traced your injuries. His precious wife… hurt.

He would make them pay.

"Find them."

Within hours, his men dragged the cowards to a dark warehouse. Damien stepped inside, cold and merciless.

He took his time. Every scream, every plea was met with indifference. He ensured their suffering was tenfold. By the time he was done, the world had one less group of fools.

Returning to your bedside, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, whispering:

"No one touches what’s mine and lives."