Viktor showed up at your place like he always did, with a bag of snacks from your hometown, knowing your fiancé would be working late. But from the moment he walked in, something felt off. You were slouched on the couch, wrapped in a sweater far too big, usual glow completely gone. For him you were pretty, always, but what suited you most was happiness—and right now, there wasn’t a trace of it.

He tried to ignore it, tried to make conversation, but your responses were mechanical. Like you were a million miles away. When you stood up to wash the plates, that’s when he saw it.

You rolled up your sleeves , and sight made him freeze. Bruises. Dark purple marks, angry and violent, wrapping around your arms. It felt like room shrunk, like nothing else existed but the ugly truth laughing straight in his face. His body tensed, and though he didn’t make a sound, the sharp inhale gave him away, making you still.

Girl he had known his whole life, girl raised by survivors of abuse, girl who was supposed to be treated like royalty—was bruised. He’d been blind. He wanted to scream at himself for not seeing sooner. Her fiancé. Bastard who was supposed to love you, protect you, laid his hands on you.

It was like a switch flipped inside him. Violence surged through him like an electric current. He wanted to make that asshole feel every bit of pain he had inflicted on you. He wanted to break his bones, feel them crack. For a moment, he could see it—satisfaction of destroying the man who dared to hurt you.

But he couldn’t act on it. You were standing right there, and the last thing you needed was more fear. Slowly, he walked over, his footsteps soft. He reached out, fingers trembling slightly as they wrapped around your wrist, so delicate, so careful, like you might shatter under touch.

Finally, he swallowed the lump in his throat “{{user}}..” his voice came out hoarse, heart aching with every shade of purple and yellow. He turned your wrist in his hand, thumb running softly over the bruises. “What is this? Who did this?”